


Casualties of War

by 1MissMolly



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Slow Build, Spies & Secret Agents, War, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-15 06:51:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 56,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5775811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1MissMolly/pseuds/1MissMolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Bond in a British spy in World War I. After discovering a spy working for the Germans, Bond is injured returning to London to report. He wakes up in the stately manor of Vauxhall, home of the Lord Holmes and his brothers. Bond wakes to the voice of the youngest Holmes, Quincy. But he can not see and he still has a spy to capture. </p><p>Very slow build of strangers to friends to lovers in a time when homosexuality is a crime, and PTSD can get you shot as a deserter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waking

**Author's Note:**

> LadyChef asked if I would write something that was very angsty. I hope you all enjoy this. The song is from World War I and was a popular air force song.

The Bells of Hell go ting-a-ling-a-ling

For you but not for me:

For me the angels sing-a-ling-a-ling,

They've got the goods for me.

Oh! Death, where is thy sting-a-ling-a-ling?

Oh! Grave, thy victory?

The Bells of Hell go ting-a-ling-a-ling

For you but not for me.

 

Waking

_Bond was fighting to get back to the British lines. The bombs were exploding around him and the sound of screams pierced the night. He could smell the mud and the blood of the front lines. His heart raced as he struggled to get back to the British forces. The information he had was vital. He need to get it to London. It would save hundreds, maybe thousands of lives. And he was the only one who knew it._

_The stumbled and tripped over the barbwire. He fell face first into the mud. It was icy cold. The October nights were beginning to freeze the mud. It would cut now as he walked through it. Bond struggled to his feet and kept walking. Alec would be waiting for him. As soon as he made it to the trench, the two of them could start to work their ways back behind the lines and to the transports back to London._

_Another phosphorus bomb exploded and lit up the sky in an eerie grey light. Colors drained from everything and turned the landscape into a black and white photograph. The sound of gun fire was coming from everywhere. Bond felt the burning pain in his shoulder, then he fell again. His helmet fell off. Crawling through the mud and over the dead bodies, he could see the sandbags of the British trenches. He was just few dozen feet away. He could smell the cooking of food and tea. It was ridiculous but he could smell tea. His mouth watered. Then another explosion and everything was white._

He woke suddenly, taking a quick deep breath. Bond laid on the bed as quiet as he could be. His heart was racing from his nightmare. The white gauze bandages over his eyes blocked out the light and he had to rely on his sense of hearing to tell if someone was in the room with him. He laid silently waiting, wondering where he was. He remembered the trench and the mud. The smell of earth and blood mingled together into an unholy slurry that clung to his skin. He remembered the deafening of the bombs and the sharp crack of the rifle fire. The roar of mortars that rained down from the sky. Some exploding, others burying themselves in the mud only to explode later. He remembered the screams of the injured, the pleas of the dying. The isolation and fear of dying alone. He swallowed again and waited to determine if he was alive or dead. Was he in heaven or was this hell?

He heard the soft murmuring of voices as a door was opened then closed. Bond heard the muted foot fall of leather soled shoes walking across wooden floors. Someone sat down beside him, not on the bed but on a chair, near the bed. The soft sound of chair legs scrapping across a wooden floor. Bond waited to see if they were going to speak. He remained still, and tried to keep his breathing slow and deep as if he was still asleep. He could have been captured by the Germans and they were waiting to see if he woke up. Bond’s information was vital to the British and he needed to be very careful whom he trusted.

“I wish you would wake up now. So many people are waiting to know if you are alright.”

The speaker was English. The voice was posh with precise diction. Aristocrat. He didn’t recognize the speaker but he knew he was British. Maybe he was in a Royal hospital somewhere near the front. Maybe he was back in England. Maybe, God bless, he was home. Or maybe this was a trick.

“I’ve been sitting here with you for over a week now. Doctor Anderson said I shouldn’t be wasting my time anymore, but . . . I don’t think . . . I’m not wasting my time. I like to talk to you. You are good listener.” There was a slight laugh at the end of the statement.

Bond laid still listening to the man. He couldn’t determine the age but he thought the man was probably young. Younger than himself. The man sounded educated, intelligent and Bond could spend hours listening to the voice. It had a quality of sophistication. Soothing and perfect. It was the type of voice that made Bond want to purr.

Bond felt a cool finger smooth across the back of his hand. The digit tracing down the tendons on his hand, pausing to draw an invisible circle over James’ wrist.

“Your friend stopped by, Alec . . . he asked about you . . . said he would be by tomorrow and you were supposed to wake up. Something about owing him a drink for saving your life.”

If the person talking had spoken to Alec, then he could very well be in England again. Or at the very least a British hospital behind the lines.

“I saved his life, the burke.” James voice was rough from disuse. He tried to clear his throat but his vocal cords burned.

“Oh . . . my God! You’re . . .! I need to get the doctor!”

Before the young man could pull his hand away from Bond’s wrist, James twisted his hand and grabbed the boy’s hand. Holding it tight.

“Not yet . . . water, please.” Bond hissed out.

He felt the young man shift and start to stand, but Bond kept hold of the young man’s hand.

“I need to stand . . . could I have my hand back?” Bond could hear the slight jesting in the man’s voice.

“Only if you return quickly.” Bond smiled. He hoped in the direction of the unknown angel sitting beside him. He loosened his grip and felt the man slow pull away from it. “Where am I?”

“Vauxhall, Surrey.”

“I’m back in England?” Bond asked as he felt a warm hand slip behind his shoulders and gently lift him up. The cool edge of a glass was brought to his lips. He grabbed the glass and hesitantly tipped it back to take a sip. The young man held the glass too and kept Bond from spilling the water all over himself.

“Yes, you’re back. This isn’t a real hospital. It’s a country estate that was opened up to returning soldiers from the war. A sort kind of sanitarium for officers to rest and relax before . . . before . . .”

“Before we are sent back into the blood bath.” Bond’s voice was still rough but he could speak now without it hurting.

He felt the young man start to pull away again from him, so Bond quickly grabbed his wrist and held on.

“My eyes?”

“I don’t know how badly you were injured. Dr. Anderson can tell you.”

“Who are you?”

“Quincy.” The young man slowly lowered Bond back down into the soft pillows.

“Quincy?”

“Yes, but I prefer to be called me Q. I’m not very fond of my name. My mother insists on calling me Quincy Winston.”

“So Q, do you work here? Are you a doctor?”

“No . . . I’m not very useful . . . I help were I can. Mostly, I sit with soldiers and give them someone to talk to. I write letters for those who can’t use their hands, and read letters to those who . . .” Q stopped afraid he might offend Bond.

“Those who can’t see?” Bond let go of Q’s wrist. “And here I was believing you were an angel sent to nurse me back to health.”

“Hardly an angel.” Bond could hear the mirth in Q’s voice again. James thought he could get used to listening to that voice. “I should get John. He’s very good. He said you would wake up.”

“Was there any doubt?” Bond asked as he leaned forward and took another drink of water. His was light headed. His stomach ached.

“Most definitely . . .” Q paused again. “Sorry, let me get John. He’ll explain.”

Bond listened to the quick foot fall as the young man left the room. He heard the heated conversation outside the closed door. Then the door opened and the sound of two people entering into the room.

“Good morning, Mister Bond. Welcome back to the living.” The voice was calm but commanding. The owner sounded confident and relaxed. “I’m Doctor John Watson. Are you in any pain?”

“No, not really. My chest seems sore and I’m having difficulty breathing deeply.”

Warm hands slipped around Bond’s shoulders and he felt himself being lifted up into a more sitting position instead of prone.

“This will be a little cold.” John said before Bond felt a cold disc about the size of a shilling placed under his shoulder blades. “Take a deep breath.” The disc moved the other side of his back. “Again.” He did as John instructed. “Everything sounds good. Just a slight gathering of fluids due to prolonged time flat on your back. We’ll get you up and walking around and it will be easier and easier each day to breath. We will need to take it slow. You just woke up and will be a little woozy for a while. Severe concussion.”

“What about my eyes?” Bond asked, fearing the worse.

“What do you remember about getting hurt?” John asked. James decided to lie.

“I was in a trench with my unit. Alec was standing to my left. We were getting ready to go over the top . . . I remember the whistle and then . . . there was a bomb?”

“Your friend, Alec Trevelyan said a grenade exploded right in front of the two of you. You shoved him out of the way just in time to save him but your eyes . . . we don’t know how damaged they were. It’s a miracle both of you are alive, you know.”

The sound of the door slamming opened startled Bond.

“WHAT THE DEVIL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING!?” A man shouted. The voice was nasally and high pitched. “Your patients are in the other ward!”

“Doctor Anderson!” Q said excitedly. “James is awake!”

“WHAT?! WHO?!”

“Captain Bond! He is awake!”

‘ _Captain_ Bond’ a small smile came over James’ lips as he knew his cover was still holding. James could feel John Watson was still examining him. His warm callous hands moving slowly over Bond’s right shoulder.

“You were also shot.” John said softly.

“CAPTAIN WATSON! I HAVE SPOKEN TO YOU ABOUT THIS!” Anderson shouted again. “Leave my patients alone!”

Bond stiffened under John’s hands. His head began to throb.

“I specifically asked John to look after Captain Bond.” Q said as he watched the tension return to James’ shoulders.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be up and moving around in no time at all.” John said to Bond, ignoring the other doctor. James could hear the smile in John’s voice. He helped the soldier to lay down.

“Mister Holmes, this may be your home but it is my hospital and I determine which doctors treat which patients!” Anderson continued. “And I know what you did . . .”

“And he’s far better doctor than you!” Q said.

“Gentlemen, please.” John said as he rose from the side of bed. He turned and looked at Anderson. “I was not interfering with your patient, Phillip. Mister Holmes informed me, Captain Bond had regained consciousness and asked me to check on him. You were not available so, I just did a quick exam to make sure the soldier was fine.”

“Watson, we’ve spoken about this!”

“No, you’ve shouted. And may I say, your bedside manner is appalling. Your patient is awake and should be hungry. You might want to order him some food.”

Phillip Anderson finally looked down at the man lying in the bed. He wrinkled his brow as he glared down at the bandaged man.

“Oh, yes . . . I . . . you two need to leave.” Anderson said. “Holmes, get me a sister.”

“No.” James said quickly. “I want Q to stay.”

“I’m the doctor, soldier.” Anderson’s voice took a sharp edge.

“Yes, and I’m the patient. I request Q to stay.”

The three men stood around the bed and took a quick look at each other. Q then nodded and sat back down in the chair beside Bond’s bed. He gently set his hand on the soldier’s shoulder.

“I would be most pleased to stay, sir. Thank you.” Bond his mouth curl quickly into a smirk. He could feel the warmth of Q’s hand through the thin cotton nightshirt.

Anderson started to sputter and trip over his words. Bond just wanted the idiot to leave so he could go back to sleep.

“I will go tell Sister Donavan that she is needed.” John Watson said with a certain coolness to his voice.

James listened to the man walk away from him. That is when he noticed the sound of cane tapping softly with every other step.

“John was injured?” James asked quietly to Q.

“Yes, shot in the shoulder.”

“But the cane?”

“He has a limp. His right leg . . . it pains him.” Q voice was close to James’ ear. He could feel the young man’s breath warm his skin. It calmed him and he let go of the deep breath he had been holding. Q gently squeezed his uninjured shoulder.

For a brief moment he wondered if it was some elaborate ruse to confuse him in giving away his information. Trick him in believing he had a confidant in the young man. James promised himself he would wait till he could see again or hear Alec’s voice before he told anyone what he knew about the spy.


	2. Quincy's Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short history of the Holmes' estate and Quincy's back story. This takes place prior to Bond arriving at Vauxhall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be patient with me. I do not have a beta and will be making mistakes. I don't mind if you tell me about the glaring ones, but please don't hound me on trivia. Thank you.

Quincy’s Story

Vauxhall had been the ancestral home of the Holmes family for over six hundred years. The land originally was a monastery built during the Norman invasion. The Norman chapel still stood deep in the woods when the Holmes took over the land. The first home was a Motte-and-bailey castle built under the reign of Edward II. It was more fortress than home; cold and drafty. During the War of the Roses, the Holmes supported Henry the VI. After the king was murdered in the Tower of London, the Holmes’ castle was attacked by York troops. It was razed and destroyed. The limestone foundations of the first manor house were laid during the third year of Henry VII’s reign and the building was finished during Henry the VIII. Queen Elizabeth had stayed a fortnight in the manor house after the defeat of the Spanish Armada.

Lord Sutton Holmes became a trusted member of James the First royal court. He was involved in the writing of the Basilikon Doron. A series of three books that King James wrote for his son Charles, laying out the king’s responsibilities of honor and commitment to his people. Unfortunately, the son did not follow his father’s advice as was soon overthrown. But it did instill in the future generations of Holmes’ their duty to King and country.

Lord and Lady Holmes hid in the priest’s hole with several of their servants as Cromwell’s troops ransacked the house. The priest hole was connected to a hidden tunnel that ran from manor house to the Norman Chapel. Although, the Holmes were not disappointed with the overthrow of Charles the First, they hated Cromwell. The Holmes were jubilant with the crowning of Charles the Second.

Under the reign of William and Mary, Lord Holmes started to rebuild the original manor and start construction on an addition. The new addition was perpendicular to the original manor, in the shape of an ‘L’; and had the latest in amenities. The floors were covered with carpets from China and the fireplaces were built from marble quarried in Italy. There were numerous reception rooms and the main staircase was built from local granite. The roof was grey slate with copper flashing.

The final wing of the manor house was built under the reign of George III. The walls were plaster and slats and covered in silk damask. The home took on its final ‘U’ shape. The oldest and newest wings being the east and west wings respectively. The formal library was the envy of numerous universities across Europe. The formal gardens were designed and built during the eighteen hundreds. A wide gravel road approached the oval drive in front of the large stone arch that was the entrance. The front windows looked out over a broad green lawn that extended for a quarter of a mile.

Lord Siger Holmes started the final restoration of the manor house at the turn of the century. He had totally updated the home with the modern inventions of electricity and forced central heating. Even the servants’ quarters on the top floor of the center portion of the house had indoor plumbing. When the renovations were completed, King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra danced at the grand ball in the newly decorated ballroom. The chandeliers were cut crystal opera baskets from Vienna.

Lord Siger Holmes had three sons of his own. Mycroft, Sherlock and Quincy. Mycroft chose to follow his father into politics and was closely aligned with the King’s cabinet. Mycroft Holmes inherited his devotion to England and worked tirelessly in the foreign office. He and his father were diplomates and involved in the intrigue across Europe. They had warned George the Fifth of the growing crisis in Serbia but the king insisted he would not worry about his cousins. Lord Holmes had fought to keep England neutral in the growing conflict between the Germans and the Russians. With the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, the Holmes family knew the world they had known would be changed. Europe, and then the whole world would be thrown into complete chaos and destruction. Lord Holmes died two days after Archduke Ferdinand and Sophie’s death. The family held the funeral off until after the state funeral for the Archduke and his wife, so Mycroft could attend both ceremonies. That was when Quincy, the youngest son, learned the importance of duty over family.

The day after his father’s memorial service, Mycroft Holmes rushed to London and to Whitehall. Plans were being made for England’s response to the growing conflict in Serbia and the outbreak of hostilities. Three days later he sent for second older brother, Sherlock. The identities of the assassins had been learned and Mycroft had a commission for Sherlock. The second oldest Holmes was to secretly go to Serbia and infiltrate the society of the ‘Black Hand’. The youngest Holmes didn’t even get to say good bye to his brother. He had been with his mother Lady Emma, visiting his father’s crypt. Neither Lady Emma nor Quincy spoke to Sherlock before he left.

The young man returned to Cambridge and his studies. The day after German invaded Belgium, Quincy and his friend Alistair, Alex for short, stepped into the recruiting office to join up. Both men were young and foolishly believed themselves invincible. They had been together for six months. Walks beside the river and shared evenings in their rooms at college. Quincy studying engineering as Alex laid his head in Quincy’s lap to read Shelly. Occasional touches and one heated moment of kisses. Nothing more, but Quincy couldn’t imagine more. He just wanted a life with Alex. He wanted an adventure. The two stood in line waiting to be examined by the doctor when the lieutenant stepped up to Quincy.

“Are you Quincy Winston Holmes?” The man asked without removing his peaked cap.

“Yes.” Quincy answered confused. The other men in line glanced at the young man being questioned by the officer.

“Come with me.”

“But I haven’t seen the doctor yet.” Quincy didn’t want to be separated from Alex.

“I have my orders. Come with me, sir.” The man took Quincy by the elbow and pulled him from the line. He turned to see Alex’s grey eyes beseeching him to stay.

The soldier pulled Quincy from the recruiting office and pushed him into the backseat of a car. Within twenty minutes he was speeding by train towards London. Quincy knew what had happened. His brother had discovered their plans to run off together. He hung his head as the train traveled south. It was late and the city was already dark, when he was removed from the train by guards and escorted to Mycroft’s club.

As soon as the door closed on Mycroft’s private rooms, Quincy started to shout.

“How dare you?! I’m an adult! I get to choose to enlist if I so want!”

Mycroft looked down at the dispatch still clutched in his hand. “Sit down, Quincy, so we can discuss this rationally.”

“There is nothing rational about this! You insist on interfering in my life and I won’t tolerate it anymore!” Quincy was shaking with rage.

The image of Alex’s face as the two of them were separated was fueling Quincy’s anger. He didn’t know how he could catch up to his friend now. It would be difficult to be sent to the same training camp.

Mycroft gently spread the dispatch out on his desk, smoothing the wrinkled paper. He glanced down at it briefly before he looked back up at his younger brother.

“You are under age and I am your legal guardian for six more months. I will not allow you to enlist. If need be I will see you placed into a conservatorship first.” Quincy’s eyes enlarged at the threat of losing control of his life. “And don’t think you can go running to Mummy. She agrees with me that you are too young to be making decisions for yourself. I believe this Alistair Turner has been a bad influence on you and you are to no longer associate with the boy.”

“Alex is not a boy! He is . . . we are . . . I LOVE HIM!”

Mycroft stared at his brother and his outburst. ‘ _The young man didn’t know what he was talking about’_ , Mycroft thought. ‘ _He couldn’t’_. Mycroft stood and pulled down the front points of his waistcoat. He straightened his back gaining control of his emotions.

“An infatuation at best. Now, you will stay the night here and return to your studies at Cambridge in the morning.”

“The hell, I will!” Quincy shouted back.

“Swearing now. As I said, a negative influence.” Mycroft turned away from his brother and sat down at his desk. “It has been decided. Please retire for the night. I will need to attend to a dispatch from Whitehall.”

Quincy was fuming. His face was red with anger. He felt as if the world was opening up under his feet to swallow him. He had to run. He had to escape his brother. Quincy turned and stormed from the room. Rushing pass the footmen in the halls and out the front door. He dashed into the night.

Quincy walked for an hour, trying to come up with a way to get back to Alex. He kept seeing the confusion in Alex’s face as the lieutenant pulled Quincy away. Quincy wanted to scream, lash out. How could his brother be so stupid? So arrogant? Quincy didn’t even notice the people looking up till he heard the woman scream.

Quincy stopped and looked around at the crowd. The frightened people were pointing to the sky and whispering excitedly. The young man looked up and saw the silver dirigible floating gracefully through the black sky. It was actually quite beautiful. The search lights of the city bouncing off the silvery grey skin of the zeppelin. Quincy was glued to the ground as he watched the balloon sail silently over his head.

He didn’t even occur to him the zeppelin was German until after the bombs started exploding. It took him several seconds to realize the Germans were dropping bombs on the city from hundreds of feet in the air. The flashes and concussion of the explosions knocked Quincy off his feet. He scrambled up and rushed head long into the crowds, now running down the street and into buildings. Quincy knew he didn’t want to hide in a building so he looked for a sign for an underground railroad. Hiding under the city would be the safest. He ran, tripping over the debris already tossed up from the bombing.

Suddenly, a bomb exploded in front of him. He was knocked backwards off his feet. His ears were ringing and he couldn’t seem to sit up. The ground began to shake. He looked up just in time to see the brick wall of the building next to him collapse. The red stones buried the young man in rubble and dust. He coughed once, then a brick hit the side of his head. Darkness suddenly enveloped him. Black and silent.

~Q~

Mycroft stood beside his brother’s hospital bed. The young man was still unconscious but the doctors had reassured Holmes that his brother would wake up. Mycroft looked down on the battered remains of his sibling. Quincy’s leg was broken and he had internal injuries. His skin was so very pale and his breathing was weak. The dark curls had Mycroft had always envied, were matted flat to Quincy’s head. The blood dried and flaking off. The doctors had told the man, that Quincy’s eyes had been damaged by the brick dust. His vision would be altered. Mycroft didn’t care. Quincy would live. He would survive this.

Mycroft swore he would do anything and everything he could to never see his brother hurt again. Lord Holmes’ mind returned to the dispatch sitting on his desk. The message about Sherlock. He had sent his brother to Eastern Europe to infiltrate the terrorists and find out their plans. Two months in Serbia and Sherlock had disappeared. He had missed his contact and no one had heard anything from him for weeks. Mycroft didn’t even know what to tell his mother. Was her son alive and captured or dead and in an unmarked grave.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment and allowed himself the weakness of emotions. One brother missing and the other nearly killed. A sharp pain stabbed into the man’s chest. No more. He wouldn’t give England any more. This war was going to take the lives of thousands of young men, but not another brother.

Mycroft clinched his fist and straightened his back. He blinked away his tears and set his jaw. He was a Holmes and he had a job to do. Flexing his grip around the handle of his umbrella, Mycroft nodded once and left the room.

Quincy woke up alone and in the dark. His eyes burned and the room was awash in blurred shapes. Quincy’s leg ached and his head throbbed with every heartbeat.

“Hello?” Quincy called out weakly. No answer. “Hello? Is anyone there?” Silence.

Quincy began to shake. His stomach twisted as fear pooled deep within him. He blinked feeling the tears run from the corners of his eyes. Quincy waited in the dark. Waited for his fate. Unsure he was willing to face it.

When the door opened, he expected to see a doctor or a vicar. The person stepped into the room and walked to the bed. Quincy blinked several times to bring the person into focus. It was Mycroft dressed neatly in his city clothes. His suit smartly buttoned; the white shirt primly starched.

Mycroft’s relief at seeing his brother awake quickly gave way to anger at the boy’s foolishness. If Quincy hadn’t run off to join up . . . If Quincy had done what he was told and stayed at the Diogenes Club . . . If Quincy hadn’t become infatuated with this young man, Alistair . . . Mycroft was glad now for what he had done.

“You will be going back to Vauxhall when you are discharged. You will stay there and not leave until I allow it.” Mycroft was forcing himself to remain unemotional. He couldn’t let Quincy know how desperate he had become watching the young man struggle back to life. “I have made all the arrangements.”

“What arrangements?” Quincy’s voice quavered.

“A conservatorship. You are now under my complete authority. You will do as I instruct.”

Quincy laid very still in the bed. He tried to not scream or cry. He hurt and he was scared. He couldn’t see very well and his brother just took away his control.

“I hate you.” Quincy whispered.

Mycroft turned and walked out of the hospital room. He could live with being hated as long as his brother was alive.


	3. The Rest of Quincy's Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the wonder comments.

The Rest of Quincy’s Story

Quincy returned to Vauxhall after he was released from the hospital. Mycroft did not escort him to the train station but had two soldiers for the Horse Guard take the young man. Quincy fidgeted with his new spectacles, trying to become accustom to the weight on his nose and ears. His leg mended quickly and the internal injuries were healing.

He arrived at the station but only the butler and one of the footmen were there to meet him. As the butler tucked the wool throw around Quincy’s legs, he told the young man that Lady Emma was in London and he would be alone in the large house with only the staff.

For the two months, Quincy took every meal alone and spent his evenings reading beside the fire in his bedroom. He wrote letters to Alex but never received any. He had become a prisoner in his own home. When his mother returned, Lady Emma, or Lady M as she was called at Buckingham, she informed her son their house was to be opened up as a sanitarium. Officers injured in the war would be coming to Vauxhall to rest and recuperate.

Quincy was excited. Finally he would have someone to talk to. Doctor Phillip Anderson arrived first with three sisters. They arranged the rooms according to need. The sitting rooms and reception rooms of the east wing would be for the most gravely injured. The rooms of the west wing were for the soldiers not severely injured. A phonograph was brought in with records. Tables were arranged for the men to play cards and the billiard table was moved over to the sitting room. The bedrooms on the upper floors were arranged with three to five beds in them for the men to sleep in. Much of the family’s furniture was moved into storage.

The first soldiers arrived three weeks later. Most were badly injured. Quincy knew nothing of medicine but he found many of men just wanted someone to talk to. Someone who wouldn’t talk about the war. Quincy would talk to the men about anything they wanted to talk about. Soon the men were calling him ‘Q’ instead of Master Quincy or Mister Holmes. He was like their younger brother or close cousin. Some of the soldiers grew protective of the young man.

A year later, a new doctor came to the Vauxhall. He was shorter than Quincy with blonde hair flecked with grey and sad blue eyes. The man walked with a cane and had more presence than the other medical personnel.

“John Watson,” he said as he held his hand out to Quincy.

“Q.”

John smiled. It made his dark blue eyes brighten. “Q? Is that really your name or has enlistment office miss filed your paperwork?”

“Pardon?”

“When they miss file someone’s papers, they don’t exist. They give him a made up name until they can prove who he is.”

Q realized the joke everyone had been playing on him. He didn’t exist. The name Q the men had given him, was as much an insult as a pet name.

“It’s my real name.” The young man said with his head slightly bowed.

John noticed the defeated attitude in the young man. He slapped Q on the back and grabbed hold of his shoulder.

“Good. Call me John.”

The two became close friends. Q would follow John through his rounds and learned the name of every soldier who came through Vauxhall. He would joke with them and read to them. Many of the soldiers found Q’s voice calming and reassuring. Something about the pure English accent made them relax. It even calmed John when he became frustrated with Anderson and Sister Donavan.

~Q~

Q avoided the west wing of the house with the other soldiers who were healthy and just there for a rest. At night he could hear the music playing from the phonograph and the click of the billiard balls hitting each other. He could hear the laughter and the songs. Q would roll over in bed and think about Alex. He would wonder. Was Alex somewhere warm? Was he drinking with his comrades? Would he ever write Q back?

A warmth would fill Q’s belly and his hands would start to stroke down his abdomen and across his thighs. He would lay under the blankets and think of Alex. The memories of feeling the man lean next to him as they sat on the couch in his rooms, or the gentle warmth of Alex’s breathe over Q’s skin when they would whisper to each other. Q would close his eyes and see those slate grey eyes watching him as his hand wrapped around himself. He would run his tongue over his lips remembering what it had felt like to kiss Alex. Then a soft cry would escape Q’s throat as his hand warmed with his release.

“Alex . . .”

Then the tears would come.

The package arrived in June. It was simply labeled to “Quincy Holmes, Vauxhall Surrey.” Q wondered how long it took the post to figure out where to bring it. Q tore the brown paper and found a bundle of letters tied together with a tattered piece of wool yarn. He looked at the address on the letters and nearly cried out. They were the letters he had been sending to Alex. Every one of them. Unopened.

With shaking fingers, he unfolded the note he found in the package. The script was messy and difficult to read. It wasn’t Alex’s hand.

_Dear Mister Holmes,_

_Inside please find your correspondence with my son, Alistair. I thought you would like these returned to you. Apparently, Alistair never had the time to read your letters. I know the two of you were friends at Cambridge._

_Alistair died on February 24 at Verdun. Your letters were sent to me with his belongings._

_Sincerely, Frances Turner._

Q slowly folded the letter closed and took the letters to his room. He hid everything away and told his valet he was ill and would not be dinning with his mother that night.

Q locked the door to his room and sat in the dark. He allowed himself the tears but never made a sound as he grieved Alex.

~Q~

John would tell Q stories from the front. He explained how he was helping a soldier when he was shot in the shoulder. He had been kneeling in the bed of a truck when a rifle round went through him. John collapsed on top of the injured soldier. Their blood mixing across the floor of the vehicle.

“If only we had an ambulance or truck we could move people quickly in that had more protection than a canvas cover.”

“An armored vehicle?” Q asked.

“Yes.”

That night, Q drew up his first designs of an armored personnel carrier. He went out to the garage and spent hours talking to their driver about engine power and torque. He questioned soldiers who had experience with trucks and tanks. He modified his designs and sent them to Mycroft. The following month, Mycroft sent him a letter asking him to design a new tank for the British forces.

~Q~

It had been two years since Q had seen his brother Sherlock. No one had mentioned the man’s name in front of Lady M and Q for fear of how the two would react. There had been no information about his whereabouts. Q feared the worse. Then one day, he noticed the black Rolls driving up the gravel to the front of the house. Q stood in the upstairs window looking out as the car pulled up to a stop in front of the manor.

A tall man stepped out of the car and Q recognized his brother Mycroft’s auburn hair. Then a second man stepped out. He was tall and frightfully thin. His clothes were too large for him and he seemed to be swimming in the black fabric. The man turned his face to look up at the façade of the house. The silver blue eyes were still bright. Sherlock had come home.

Q rushed down the stairs and into the foyer as Mycroft and Sherlock stepped into the house.

“Sherlock!” Q rushed forward and wrapped his arms around the scarecrow of a man.

His brother groaned and tensed. He did not return the embrace to Q. Mycroft grabbed Q’s arm and tried to pull it away from Sherlock.

“Quincy, don’t.” Mycroft’s voice was uneasy.

Q pulled back and looked into his brother’s face. He could see the pale thin features of Sherlock’s expression. He had lost far too much weight and he was deathly pale.

“Sherlock?” Q asked hesitantly.

“Yes, brother.” The older brother’s deep voice had lost some of its strength.

Mycroft pulled Q further back from Sherlock. “Our brother was captured for a while. He has suffered greatly but is home with us again.”

Q turned and looked at Mycroft. He saw something he never thought he would see. Guilt colored the blue grey of Mycroft’s eyes. Q stepped back from the two men and watched as Mycroft gently helped Sherlock into the house. Mycroft took Sherlock immediately to his old room. Lady M was waiting for them there.

Sherlock stayed in his rooms for two weeks recuperating. After that he could be seen walking around the grounds, usually late at night. He didn’t interact with the soldiers, nor did he chose to speak to his family members. John Watson seemed to be the only person whom Sherlock would tolerate. Q was relieved for that.

~Q~

Then he came. The soldier came in with the casualties from the Battle of Ancre Heights. Q read the paper work that came with him. Captain James Bond. Skull fracture. Phillip Anderson looked over the patient over and sent him to the room where the comatose patients were kept. No one came out of that room alive.

“Doctor Anderson, surely there is something you can do?” Q pleaded.

“Yes there is. Care for the patients that have a chance.” Anderson turned and left Q beside the injured man.

Q looked down at the man. He didn’t know why but he felt drawn to him. The man’s eyes were bandaged and his skin was sickly color. Q remembered waking up alone and scared in the hospital. He sat down beside the man waiting to see if he would move or wake.

At midnight, Q became scared. Bond’s temperature had been climbing throughout the night. The man was quite warm. He went and woke up John.

“Please, just check on him.” Q said.

John climbed out of his bed and leaned heavily on his cane as he walked across the house to the rooms of the east wing. Q led the way, carrying an oil lamp. John rested his hand on Bond’s head. He bent over the man and pulled the bandages down on his shoulder.

“Get someone you trust. None of the nurses.” John said as he took the lamp away from Q. “I will need to operate.”

Q felt his stomach twist. He dashed out of the room. When he returned, the house maid, Molly Hooper was with him. She was in her night dress with a yellow shawl wrapped around her narrow shoulders. John nodded at the two young people as they came up to him. John had already undressed Bond and was wiping a cold wet flannel down the man’s legs and arms. He draped a cloth over Bond’s loins, but Q had seen the man naked before John covered him up.

“John this is Molly. She’s . . . you can trust her.”

“Molly, I hope you are not squeamish. Keep wiping down his legs with the wet rag. We need to cool him off.”

Molly knelt by Bond’s knees and proceeded to run the cold flannel up and down his legs. John removed the bandages from Bond’s face and his shoulder. Q saw James’ face for the first time. The man was not remarkable but was still so very attractive. There were pale scars and weathered creases but it was a handsome face and Q was drawn to it.

The young man watched as John pour iodaphor over the wound in Bond’s shoulder. John handed the lamp to Q.

“Hold the lamp close and light this area.”

Q stood on the opposite side of the Bond’s bed and held the lamp up. John took out a scalpel and cut through the wound on James’ shoulder. The smell of putrefaction filled the room. Q smothered his mouth and nose with his hand as his stomach tried to revolt. He swallowed the bile back down as he watched John open the incision and pus oozed out. John quickly cleaned the infection away and poured more iodaphor over the wound. The doctor worked on the wound till it bled cleanly. He used a probe then his fingers and removed several pieces of shrapnel from the shoulder. Then John poured powdered sulfur in the wound, stitching it closed when he was done. It took less than half an hour, but the three people were exhausted when John was done.

John re-bandaged the wound. He wiped the Bond’s face down with wet cloth and checked his eyes. John wrapped clean bandages around Bond’s head and covered over the eyes. Standing up straight, John rubbed his left shoulder.

“We’ll know in a few hours if he is going to make it.” John said and he started cleaning up the debris from the surgery. “We need to keep him cool and lower his temperature. Keep wiping his body down with the wet flannels.”

Q nodded and took the towel from Molly’s trembling hands. “I’ll do this, Molly. You need to get to bed before anyone finds out you helped us.”

“But Master Quincy . . .” she whispered.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep you from getting into trouble. Just avoid the nurses and Anderson for a few days.”

Molly nodded and left the two men alone with Bond.

“Can you stay awake for an hour or two?” John asked. Q nodded his head. “I’ll relieve you after I get a little sleep.” John went over and laid down on one of the empty beds in the room.

Q spent the next hours, wiping down James’ arms and legs, trying to bring the dangerous fever down. He let John sleep till the sun was lightening the eastern sky. John rolled out of the bed and checked James’ vitals. He nodded his head and smiled at Q.

“I think we saved his life. You did a good job, Q.” John pulled a chair over to the bed and sat down. “You get some sleep. I’ll take over now.”

Q didn’t want to leave Bond, but he stood and left the two soldiers alone. When he woke two hours later, his valet was bring his morning tea into the bedroom. Q rushed down to the ward. James was dressed again and sleeping under a blanket. Color had returned to his face and fever was gone. John smiled at Q as he walked passed the young man. John was dressed in his uniform and didn’t look like he had been up the previous night doing emergency surgery to save a man’s life.

Later, Sister Donavan, one of the nurses Anderson had brought with him, tried to corner Q and ask him what had happened during the night. She and Anderson had expected to find Bond dead in the morning, not recovered.

“Did something happen? Did Dr. Watson interfere with Dr. Anderson’s treatment?”

“Are you asking did Dr. Watson save the life of a man Dr. Anderson was letting die?” Q asked pointedly. Sister Donavan didn’t ask again what happened during the night, but she refused to speak to Q again.

Two days later, Alec Trevelyan arrived at Vauxhall. The tall man came barreling into the ward, looking at every patient’s face. When he found Bond, Q was sitting beside the man, talking to him about rifles.

“Is he going to live?” was the first thing Trevelyan asked as he looked down at the prone man.

“Doctor Watson believes so.” Q said. “Are you his friend?”

Alec nodded and sat down on the bed beside Bond instead of the chair. “How long has he been like this?”

“Three days.”

John came in and saw the stranger sitting next to Bond. John stepped up behind Trevelyan and set his hand on the man’s shoulder. Alec growled in pain and ducked out of John’s grasp. John looked cautiously at the man.

“Broken collar bone?” John asked.

“Maybe . . .” Alec looked sideways at John.

“How did it happen?”

“Saving James’ life.” He turned at looked down at his sleeping friend. “Who bloody well better wake up and buy me a drink because I did.”

“Come with me and let me see to that shoulder.”

Alec left later that day with his arm in a sling and his shoulder taped up. He had pulled Q aside before he left and told the young man not to leave James’ side. “It is vitally important, James is never left alone. Wire me in London when he wakes up.”

Q nodded his head. He enlisted the help of one of the footmen and Molly to sit with James in shifts. It had been six days since James had come to Vauxhall. Q sat beside him talking to him about whatever slipped into the young man’s mind. He talked about weapons, and tanks. He talked about Cambridge and London. He waited patiently as Anderson and Donavan scowled at him.

Then James spoke. “I saved his life, the burke.”

Q couldn’t believe it. It was like watching your favorite piece of art come to life. His heart beat wildly in his chest for the first time since he’d left Cambridge. As Q rushed to find John, the realization of James’ recovery hit him. James was alive and he was going to be alright, but it also meant, James would be leaving too. And if Alec Trevelyan had anything to do with it, James would leave very soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are welcomed and enjoyed.


	4. The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond wakes up and finds himself in the care of Quincy Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the wonderful comments. As I said in the summary, this is a story set during the First World War. Attitudes towards homosexuality and PTSD were unpleasant. Please be warned that there will be occasionally negative comments made.

The Beginning

When James woke again, his eyes were still bandaged but he could tell he had been moved to a different room. First, he could tell this room smelled better. He no longer could smell the sour smell of illness and blood. The room smelled slightly of cedar. The bed was also nicer than the military issue iron beds he woke in. He smoothed his hand over the thick satin duvet. The sheets were cotton but of a high thread count. There were at least three pillows on the bed and they were thick goose down. He wondered how he merited such luxurious accommodations. He felt certain he was the only patient in the room. He shifted in the bed and sighed.

“James, are you awake?” the soldier heard Q’s soft voice. Instead of making the man tense and ready to attack, the voice unexpectedly relaxed James.

“Yes. Is that you, Q?”

“I had you moved out of the coma rooms. You’re in my . . . you’re in a private room with in the house.” The young man pulled his chair closer to the bed. James patted the mattress till Q took the hint and set his hand beside James’ so he could feel the warm skin next to his.

“How long was I out this time?” James asked, while afraid of the answer.

“Just a few hours. Anderson said you would be several days before you will you will have normal sleep patterns again.” James wanted laugh. He never had normal sleep patterns to begin with.

“And my eyes?”

“Anderson said he didn’t know . . . but John said the damage was minimal. In a few days we can remove the bandages. We’ll know for sure by then.” Q twisted his finger so he could curl it around one of James’.

“You put a lot of trust in John Watson.”

“He is a very good doctor.” Q said. “And a very brave soldier. I admire him.”

“Did the two of you serve together in France?”

“I’ve never . . . I wasn’t allowed to enlist. I’ve never served.” James could hear the regret in the young man’s voice. He twisted his hand grasp Q’s.

“Don’t feel bad about that.” James knew there could many reasons for why the young man hadn’t enlisted. It sounded as if it wasn’t his decision. “So who are you exactly . . . you said you weren’t a doctor or orderly. I doubt the owners of this estate would let their servants waste time with the injured.”

“The owners aren’t that selfish . . . I mean they did open their home up to allow the officers somewhere to recuperate. When your bandages are removed, you’ll see it’s a very nice home.”

Bond smiled. “So you are one of the sons of the owner.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, but the way you defended them. You must be related if you can commandeer a room within the private residence. Youngest?”

“Yes.”

“How old are you?” James felt the urge to tease the young man. He couldn’t understand why other than the expressive voice he heard. It was if Q’s facial expressions were relayed though the pitch of his speech.

“Nineteen. I’m supposed to be in Cambridge but my brother, Lord Holmes, pulled me from my studies and forced me to stay here with mother.”

“Lord Holmes? Of Whitehall?”

“Yes. He is in the privy council.”

James thought for a moment. He knew exactly how important Holmes was and therefore how powerful. If Q was Mycroft Holmes’ younger brother, then the boy was definitely not to be teased by the officer. Regardless of how wonderful his voice was.

“So you stay here and keep your mother company?” James slowly pulled his hand back and folded his arms over his chest.

Q knotted his brow as James pulled back. “Ah, yes . . . and other things. I design things. I’ve come up with several interesting vehicles for the war effort. One is an armored personnel carrier. Like the American tank, but larger. The other is a landing craft that can be sailed right up onto the sand and the front opens to allow troops to exit quickly.” James nodded his head. Q watched the blonde. “I also sit with sick. I listen to them and help where I can. I’ve written dozens of letters for injured soldiers and read letters back. One of the men in ward has asked me to read to him. We both enjoy H.G. Wells.”

“I prefer Lawrence, myself.” James said with a slight smile. He couldn’t help himself; just a little teasing. Listening to Q read to him the stories of D. H. Lawrence would be very enjoyable.

“I think . . . uhm . . . I don’t believe my mother would allow those novels in the house. I have some Edgar Rice Burroughs.” Q stumbled over his words. He remembered the arguments between his mother Lady Emma and the instructors at Cambridge over ‘ _Sons and Lovers’_.

“How about a biography? Maybe one of Field Marshal Lord Herbert Kitchener?” James said with a smile on his face.

“Yes” Q sounded relieved. “I know we have both his memoirs of the Mahdist War and the Boar War. Oh, and I almost forgot . . . your friend Alec was here. He wants to see you.”

“Alec?”

“Yes, he’s been asking about you.” Q rested his hand on James’ leg. The blonde could feel the hand through the covers. “He was hurt when you were but . . . not as bad. A broken collar bone.”

“Where is he?” James asked trying to not sound excited.

“I forgot to wire him and tell him you’re awake. He’s in London. I’m sure he could be here tomorrow night.”

“Go wire him now. I need to speak to him as soon as possible.”

Q felt himself being dismissed. It was uncomfortable. He had been in James’ presence for over week and now he was being sent away. The sooner Alec knew James was awake the sooner James would leave. He didn’t want James to leave. He was tired of everyone leaving him behind.

“Yes . . . I’ll go now and ask someone to take a message into the village.” Q cleared his throat.

“Go yourself. I don’t trust . . . Q please, I need you to do this for me.” James softened his voice on last part of his request. He reached out with his hand towards the young man. Q took it and smiled.

“Yes, James. I’ll go myself.”

James listened to the soft footfall over a thick carpeted floor. A door opened and closed. James was left alone in the room. He wanted to get out of bed and search the room, but blind as he was it would be fruitless. He wondered why the young man had moved him into one of the private bedrooms in the manor house. The soldiers were being billeted in several sitting rooms. He could tell in the room he first woke up it there were as many as ten men to a room. James could tell he was alone in this room.

~Q~

Alec took the train south as soon as he receive the wire. He had been in the office of Garth Mallory discussing the last mission to German. James had sent a message back to MI6 that he had come across a spy working for the Germans with connections to Whitehall. If it was true, it would be a disaster for the war effort. It would not only compromise the plans for battle, but also, it would crush the already weak troop morale.

Q’s wire told Alec, James was awake and asking for him. Mallory told the man to rush down to Vauxhall. He would follow Alec in a day or two if he was needed. Alec was ordered to get James ready to travel. It was late by the time Alec arrived at the station in the village. He found a driver with a pony trap that took him out to the estate.

Q heard the heavy banging on the door. The butler was opening the door when Q reached the top of the stairs. The blonde man rushed in the house. Seeing Q, Alec shouted.

“He’s awake?!”

“Yes. He’s been asking for you.” Alec turned to go down the hall to the rooms James used to be in. “He’s not down there anymore. He’s upstairs. I had him moved . . . he is sleeping in my rooms.”

There was a soft rapping at the door.

“Come in” James called out.

He listened as the door opened, then the booming voice of Alec Trevelyan shattered the quiet of the room.

“James, you bloody son of a bitch.”

“Alec . . .”

He heard the approach of heavy footfall and then the bed sagged as Alec sat on the edge instead of the chair beside the bed.

“You fucking owe me . . .”

“How do you see that? If I remember correctly, I pushed you out of the way when I saw the grenade.”

“Yes, you pushed me . . . right back into the trench. Then to add insult to injury, you fell on top of me. You broke my collar bone. I couldn’t move to get you off of me.”

James smiled even though he couldn’t remember anything after the grenade. He landed crippled into the trench, bloody and broken. His eyes having been injured by the debris.

“Is Q here?” James asked softly.

“Yes, I here.” James heard the sharp diction.

“I would like to talk to Alec alone, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh . . . of course . . . I’ll see you . . . I mean I’ll be back later.”

“Thank you.”

James waited till he heard the door closed.

“Are we alone?” he whispered to Alec.

“Yes. How are you doing?”

“I wish I could see. I feel like I’m naked here.”

“I’m sorry I lost you. They separated us in Calais. I spent three days and nights trying to track you down. Mallory got your message. Are you sure about the spy?”

“Yes, I had finished breaking into Jäger’s safe when I heard the people come into the outer rooms. I stood behind an opened door, looking through the crack. There was a man and woman with General Jäger. The general was thanking him for the work he had down for the Kaiser. He would greatly rewarded after the war. The man spoke, his German was very good but he still had an English accent.”

“Description?”

“Mid to late twenties. Six foot, maybe six one. Hundred and forty pounds. Sharp features. Narrow nose and high cheek bones. Broad forehead. Dark hair.” James laid still, thinking. “The general called him ‘Nightingale’.”

“Have you seen him before?”

“No, but I’ll know I’ll recognize him when I see him again. Jäger’s butler caught me in the office and raised the alarm. Nightingale knows he’s been seen.”

“I need to take you to London. I didn’t think it is safe for you here, but you were unconscious and the doctor said not to move you. Now that you are awake we can leave immediately.” Alec said as he stood. He started to look for some clothes for James to put on.

“Alec, I can’t leave. I can’t see. I would be a sitting duck if he tracks me down.” James flexed his fists. He hated he couldn’t see. “Nightingale will be looking for me . . . for us. We need to be prepared if he comes after us.”

“MI6 can send guards down here for you.”

“No, I’m safe here as long as I don’t draw too much attention.” James smiled. “Q is always near me anyway.”

“James, don’t tell me that kid is your guard. A stiff breeze and he’s going over. And now is not the time to start a conquest.” James’ expression soured but he didn’t respond to Alec’s comment. “We need to get you out of here in case Nightingale comes after you.”

“Do you know whose home we are in?” James asked.

“I didn’t ask? Just some landed gentry correct?” Alec said, he gave up on finding clothes for James to wear. He pulled the covers down to help James stand.

“Lord Mycroft Holmes.”

“WHO!?” Alec almost dropped James. The injured man hissed as he hit the bed.

“Lord Holmes. Q is apparently his brother. Can you think of a better place to be?” Alec whistled and shook his head. “You said you’ve spoken to Mallory?”

“Yes.” Alec said staring down at his friend.

“Send for him. We will wait until Mallory gets here. Maybe we can set a trap here for Nightingale.”

“Here!? In Lord Holmes’ house? Are you insane? The man will have your head on a platter.” Alec sat back down on the edge of the bed. “And if you get Quincy Holmes injured, you would never forgive yourself.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’ve seen the boy.”

“Well, I haven’t . . .”

“If he was a girl he would be just your type.” Alec said. He noticed a confused expression passed over James’ face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments welcomed and enjoyed.


	5. Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond wants to know why Alec said Q would be his type, but before he could learn, Q brings him news. The start of their growing relationship. Bond enjoys embarrassing Q with letters from his conquests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your wonderful comments.

Letters

James heard the door opening and the clatter of china. His skin prickled as adrenaline rushed through his body.

“Q?”

“No, sir. I’m Molly.” James heard the soft higher pitched voice of a young woman. Although she didn’t sound threatening, James couldn’t relax. “Master Quincy suggested some food for you.”

The sound of a tray being set down on a table nearby. James struggled to sit up. He jerked slightly when he felt two small warm hands slip around his shoulders. Then a pillow was shifted behind his back and the woman helped him lean back into it.

“So, who are you, Molly?” James asked. His voice dipping down to a lower register.

“I’m one of the maids.” Molly’s voice squeaked. James smiled. Even blind he could still charm a woman. His training kicking in.

He had been left to ponder Alec’s comments about Q. ‘ _If he was a girl, he would be just your type.’_ Bond had never been attracted to men but as a spy, he had been forced to flirt with men occasionally while on missions. Both he and Alec both knew sometimes it was required of them. He wondered why Alec would make such a blatant statement about the young man.

“Very nice to meet you.” He could hear her moving around the room. He felt the covers being straightened and the warmth of the sun as she opened the drapes. “Does every soldier have such nice accommodations?”

“Oh, no. This is Master Quincy’s bedroom.” James felt the brush of her hand against the back of his. “I’ve brought you some broth. Master Quincy said for it to be in a cup so it would be easier for you to drink. Better than trying to use a spoon just yet.”

James nodded his head. A sour twist filled him. If his vision did not return, James was going to be making several changes in his life. Most specifically his career. Spies could not be very successful blind.

He sipped the hot soup. It was a beef broth and warmed him. The savory liquid coated his tongue and made his mouth water for more. He took another drink, humming softly as he did.

“I’ve set a plate with a few biscuits on it on the bedside table, sir. Once you are finished with the soup.” James could tell she was standing near the bed. “Is there anything else you need, sir?”

“No . . . thank you. Do you know where Q, I mean Master Quincy, is?” James asked before he took another sip.

“He was in the library when he told me to bring you some dinner. I think he was looking for a book to read.”

James smiled. “Thank you, Molly. The broth is delicious.”

James heard a knock on the door and then the heavy wooden door opening.

“James?” Q asked as his head looked around the door.

“Come in. Molly was just feeding me.”

Q stepped closer to the bed. His eyes quickly assessing the man lying in the bed. Then he turned and smiled at the young woman. “Thank you, Molly. You’re a dear.”

James could hear a small giggle from the woman. He wondered if she had a small infatuation of her employer.

“Thank you, sir. If there is nothing else?”

“No, that will be all.”

James listened as dishes were moved on the tray and the soft footfalls as she left.

“So what book did you find to read to me?” He asked.

Q took the chair near the bed and sat down. “I have Kitchener’s Campaign and Jules Verne’s _Mysterious Island_.”

James honestly didn’t wish to listen to either of the two books but he did want to hear Q’s voice. He found it soothing and yet also compelling. He wondered what the young man looked like. How tall he was? The color of his hair? His eyes? What had created that wonderful voice?

“You decide.” James offered.

“Alec also brought some letters addressed to you.” Q said. He removed the string wrapped around the letters.

“Oh, from whom?” James wasn’t sure who would be writing to him and if Q should be reading them. “Come sit near me so we can’t be over heard.”

“There is one from Martha Rowland,” James heard the rustling of paper. Then the bed dipped as Q sat down on the edge. “My dearest James. I can’t forget our last moments together. Your breath caressing my . . . oh . . . um . . . maybe Alec should read this one to you.” James smiled covertly. Martha was very blunt in her descriptions.

Q slipped another letter out to read to James.

“This is from Luisa . . . James, I miss you so much. I will come to your bed now and . . .” Q kept reading and whispered softly. “with my hands on your . . . I will let Alec read this one to you too.”

“Just tell me the name of the author and I will tell you if it is safe to read.”

Q looked at the twelve letters Alec had brought. They were all from women. Inwardly, Q sighed, acknowledging James’ prowess with the opposite sex. And from the tones of the letters, James was also very talented in pleasing his partners.

“Rachel Weiss . . . Teresa di Vicenzo . . . Sophia Kopolov . . .” Q read through the names on the envelopes.

“Tracy!” James said. “Contessa Teresa di Vicenzo.”

Q looked up at the man. He saw a bright smile of James’ face. Apparently the Contessa was important to James. Q slowly opened the envelope, fearing what he was about to read.

“My darling . . .” Q took an audible swallow. “My darling . . . Father told me you had been in Spain last month. I’m am sorry you didn’t come to me. I know that our last meetings were difficult. Father so desperately wants me to find a suitable husband but I wish to marry for love . . .” Q’s voice softened as he read the woman’s letter. “I can’t tell if your feelings for me are real or if I’m just another conquest for you. I do know that my feelings for you are real. My very breath is dependent on you.”

James listened as Q read Tracy’s words. The soft and smooth sound of the young man washed over James.

“Father has found me a husband. A nobleman from Valencia. I have refused. I can not bare to be touched except by you . . .” Q paused for fear the letter was going to go as the other had. He read a few lines ahead, then proceeded. “I can never look at the summer sky and not think of your eyes. The warmth and passion held tightly within those simple orbs. You and you alone know me. We shared more than just a physical connection . . . You touched my soul . . .” Q’s voice softened more. James could feel the shift in Q as he read. “I have told my father I refuse the man. I have threatened to leave Spain and disappear. I know I shall never look upon your face again . . . but I wanted you to know, I have no regrets. Every moment we spent together . . . I shall cherish . . . I shall live on . . . moments of tenderness that will fill my days, all the rest of my days . . .”

Q reached over to the water glass. He took a sip. James remained silent as he listened to Q.

“All the rest of my days and all of my nights. I love you. I don’t expect you to feel the same way, but know I will never love another. Good bye.”

Q quietly folded the letter and placed it back into its envelope. He placed the envelope into James’ hand. James quickly shifted the letter into his other hand and took Q’s hand in his. He slipped his fingers down till they were wrapped more around Q’s wrist and the young man copied him. They sat there silently for several minutes.

“She was very . . . special to you?” Q asked in a whisper.

“The only woman I thought about marrying.” James answered him in a half voice.

“What stopped you?”

“I . . . I couldn’t give her what she needed. I’m not able to live a . . . normal life. She wanted a husband and a family. She wanted life in Spanish court. I may be . . . I own an estate in Scotland, but I’m not royalty. She deserved a prince.” James said.

“I’ve known several princes.” _‘They aren’t worthy enough to be mentioned in the same breath as you._ ’ Q thought. “I don’t think they are very special.”

James laughed softly. “Thank you.” He squeezed Q’s wrist. “We were together two years ago and I haven’t seen her since. Her father didn’t like me very much. . . . I don’t like to think of her as sad.”

“I don’t think she is sad. She knew love . . . and felt love. You gave her your love . . . I believe she is very fortunate.” Q ducked his head.

“She was beautiful. Her father was Spanish and her mother English. Soft brown eyes in a pale round face. Long brown hair that was curled at the ends. She had her mother’s accent, not her father’s. She was slight but strong.” James pulled the envelope to his chest. “I know you must think I’m some womanizer because of those different letters, but it was different with Tracy. She was fearless, and gentle. I wanted . . . I thought . . . too much time has passed.”

The two men sat quietly. The sound of the mantle clock ticking could be heard. The soft sound of distant music from somewhere else in the house moved into the room.

“Sounds like a party down stairs.” James said dispassionately.

“It’s the soldiers. They play records in the one of the sitting rooms downstairs.”

James hummed. “You should go join them. Enjoy yourself.”

“I’d rather not.” Q’s fingers slipped over James’ wrist.

“Molly told me this was your room.”

“Yes.”

James nodded his head. He forced himself to concentrate on the sensation of Q’s fingers. He gently rubbed his fingertips over Q’s pulse point. He thought about how something as fragile as a heart could beat so strongly.

“Are you planning on moving me out or are we going to share this room?”

James felt Q start to pull back but James closed his grip and held Q’s hand.

“I have told my valet to make up the daybed in my dressing room.” Q’s voice was shaking.

“Your valet? Of course.” James let go of Q’s hand, but he noticed the young man didn’t pull it away. “Q . . . I’m very tired.”

“Oh, yes . . . of course.” He stood pulling away from James’ touch. Q thrust the other letters into the man’s hand. “Here . . . Alec can read these to you when he returns. Or after they remove the bandages.”

“You think I’ll be able to see when these are removed.” He waved the hand holding the letters near his face.

“Yes, I trust John.”

A small deprecating smile came to James’ lips. “Of course . . . John. If you would please.”

Q nodded. “I’ll see you later.”

James didn’t say anything. He tossed the other letters toward the edge of the bed. Tracy’s letter he kept close to him. He was silent and said no more. Q moved away from the bed as he watched James. The man’s face was unreadable. He opened the door to his dressing room and made sure he closed it loud enough to James to hear. The blonde appreciated it. He waited till he was alone before he let his mask slip and he let the first tears seep out from under the gauze bandages.

 


	6. The Folly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Q share a moment together in the garden.

The Folly

Anderson ordered for Bond to start getting up and moving around. The first day, Q helped Bond walk around the bedroom. Q walked beside James, his hand holding James’ elbow as they circled around the room.

The next day, Q took James out of the room and the two walked along the balcony surrounding the grand staircase. The two walked slowly as James struggled with his weak legs. Q wrapped his arm around James’ waist and held the man’s hand as he wrapped his arm around James’. Bond’s eyes were still bandaged and the man needed Q to be his eyes.

As they walked Q talked to Bond about what ever slipped through the young man’s mind. He told Bond the history of Vauxhall. The various kings and queens who had been there. Q told him about the shape of the buildings and the different ages of each wing. Then he looked out the window and described the views from each window they passed. He mentioned the flock of starlings circling the large oak tree just to the north of the manor house.

“I miss being outside.” James said as they walked. “I spent most of my youth outdoors. My guardians never could keep up with me.” James smiled at the rare happy memory.

“I rarely went outside. I spent more time in the library than anywhere else.”

James laughed softly. “I grew up on my family’s estate in Scotland. Not as grand as this house but large manor on the moor. I hated my tutor so I spent much of my time avoiding him and out hunting or riding.”

“I think I would have liked growing up that way.” Q sounded sad. Bond squeezed the young man’s hand.

“I’ll take you mountain climbing when I can see again.”

“Mountain climbing? I’ve never . . .” He froze in midsentence. Q stopped when he noticed Sherlock standing at the end of the hall watching him and the blonde soldier.

James could feel the young man halt and waited to hear what was happening. He heard Q swallow, then shift further away from James’ body.

Sherlock stood watching his brother. The man’s sharp silver blue eyes glancing back and forth between the two men’s faces and the intertwined fingers. The two brothers nodded to each other, then Q twisted and turned James away from his taller brother.

“Who was that?” James asked softly.

“It was . . . no one. Don’t worry.”

Several days later, Q wanted to leave the manor house. He carried a wool throw over his arm, as he slipped the olive drab officer’s coat over James’ pajamas. Carefully taking James’ elbow, he guided the man out of the house. It was a warm day for November, and Q escorted Bond out of the house and into the formal gardens.

As soon as the sun hit Bond’s face, he lifted his head up towards the warmth. Behind closed eyelids he could see soft hues of red. He grabbed Q’s hand.

“Wait!”

Q stumbled slightly as he pulled up. He turned to look at James’ face. He could see James was glancing up.

“What is it? Are you in pain?”

“No . . . light. I think I can see light.” James smiled.

“Should we go back in? I’ll go get John.”

James was beginning to hate that name. “No. Not yet. Let’s just walk for a little bit. It feels good . . . being out of bed and in the sunlight.”

Q didn’t let go of James’ hand but slipped his arm underneath James’ and then continued walking. The older man could tell they were walking across grass. He could smell trees and earth. It was fresh smelling, pleasant. Not like the mud from the trenches. He could hear birds singing in the trees. And the slight twisting of branches in a gentle breeze.

“Tell me where we are.” James ordered Q.

“The gardens, but they are dormant. My grandfather had a French landscape architect design the formal gardens. He had honeymooned with my grandmother in France and she was quite taken with Versailles. There are boxwood hedges and holly topiaries. The roses have lost their blooms but it’s been a gentle fall. No snow yet, so the leaves are still green.” They kept walking. “The woods beyond the garden are mostly ash and elm. Most of the oak had been harvested years ago. But there is a large oak beside the drive in. It is hundreds of years old and a girth of over seven feet. I always wanted to climb it as a child, but my nanny would never let me. My brother, Sherlock, said it was his pirate ship.”

James smiled softly at the story.

“This is my favorite place on the property.” Q said as he stopped.

“What the gardens?”

“No, it is a folly. My grandfather had it built at the end of the garden. It looks like a Bedouin tent made out of stone.” He pulled James into the round building. James heard their feet leave the soft grass and step onto the paving stones. Inside there was a curved bench that nestled up against the wall. Q spread the blanket out over the cold stone seat and helped James to sit down. “It is about twenty feet in diameter with sloping sides like a tent. The top is pointed and a flag is on a pole at the top. I would play here as a child. In the spring, daffodils and crocus would bloom first around the base of the folly. It was a wonderful place for my imagination.”

Q sat down beside James slipping his hand from James’ grasp. The man felt adrift without the warmth of Q’s hand. He moved closer so the two men were touching at the shoulders, hips and legs. Q noticed James movements but didn’t comment; nor did he move away.

“I’m sure it was a delightful childhood.”

Q bowed his head. “Not really. I’m younger than my brothers and . . . well they didn’t like having a younger brother tagging along.”

“How much younger?”

“Mycroft is almost fifteen years older than me. Sherlock is eight years older.”

James was surprised by the age difference. “I don’t have any siblings.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. It’s just the way it is.”

The two men sat in comfortable silence for several minutes. Then James asked. “Q, what do you look like?”

“What?” the young man confused by the question.

“What do you look like?” James remembered Alec had said Q would be ‘his type if he was a female’ but James remembered the auburn haired Mycroft Holmes with his blue-grey eyes and his stern imperious expression. Definitely not James Bond’s type.

“I’m . . . people say I’m skinny, but I don’t think so. I have dark hair and wear glasses.” James could hear the hesitation in Q’s voice.

“May I touch your face?” James asked, remaining completely still.

“I don’t understand . . .”

“So I can make a picture of you in my mind. It is very frustrating to speaking to you without having a face to go with that voice.”

“Oh . . . alright.”

James slowly lifted his hand and skimmed up Q’s arm. He could feel Q shiver slightly. His callous fingers slipped up Q’s neck.

“You have a long thin neck.” James whispered.

“Family trait.”

James finger brushed over Q’s jaw line. It was sharp and well defined. The skin was smooth and soft.

“There is a mole low on my left cheek.” He said in a whisper.

James hand moved up and he felt the rim of the glasses. “Remove your glasses.”

Q did as he was asked. James slipped his palm over Q’s cheek. It was cold from the November air, but James could feel the heat rising in it from a blush. James dragged his thumb over Q’s lips. They were soft and plump. He wondered how dark they would be.

“Are you fair or tanned?” James asked.

“Pale is the term people use.” James felt the lips move under his thumb. The warm breath caressing his hand.

Gently he smoothed his fingers over the young man’s nose and found it perfect and slightly round. The eyes were large and the lids were incredibly soft to his touch, like velvet.

“What is the color of your eyes?” James voice was becoming rough.

“Hazel . . . with green tones. My . . . friend called them jade green.”

Bond’s hand moved up and dragged back into Q’s hair. To his surprise it was thick and soft as well as longer than the normal style. He reached up and dragged his hand through the young man’s hair again and could feel Q lean into the touch.

“You said you had dark hair.”

“Almost black . . . and curls. I keep forgetting to get it cut.” Q’s voice took on a breathy tone.

“Don’t . . . don’t cut it. It’s perfect just like this.”

James dragged his hand through the hair again, picturing what the young man would look like from the messages his fingers were gave him.

“James . . .”

James closed his fingers in Q’s hair. Not pulling but still holding the man tight.

“Have you ever been in love?” James asked.

He felt the shake run through Q’s body. “Like you and Tracy?” James nodded.

Q fought for control of his emotions. “Yes . . . once. We were very close, but . . . our families wouldn’t approve.”

“Did you think of running away . . . giving up Vauxhall?”

Q’s mind slipped back to Alistair. They had started at Cambridge together. Shared common interest and colleges. The young man was taller than Quincy but just as nervous at the start of their relationship. It wasn’t much of a relationship although. Reading books together on a shared blanket by the river. Evenings in their rooms at college. Alistair’s head resting in Q’s lap, reading Keats as Q’s fingers combed through the man’s pale brown hair. A shared kissed, a wanton desire for more. It was the first time in Q’s life he ever felt wanted. Ever felt important. But in the end, their relationship was forbidden. It was dangerous.

Q remembered the package of unopened letters. He closed his eyes and could see Alex grey eyes as they were pleading with Q. The look on the man’s face as Q was being dragged away from him at the enlistment office.

“It didn’t matter . . . they died.”

“I’m sorry Q.” James hand moved back down and rested on the young man’s cheek. James could feel the tear slip between his palm and Q’s cheek.

“I think we have had you outside long enough.” Q said. He reached up and pulled James’ hand from his face. He slipped his hand under James’ elbow and lifted the man up. James wavered slightly as he stood and Q slipped his hand to James’ waist to steady him. “Okay?”

“Yes, thank you. . . . And thank you for sharing your . . . I’m sorry you lost your love. I’m sure she was as lovely as you.”

Q blinked up at James. His eyes still stinging from the tears remembering Alistair.

“I guess we both lost the loves of our lives.” Q said.

“I guess we did.” James took Q’s elbow. “Never to love again.”


	7. The Invisible Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James meets another injured soldier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a rough chapter. Hope I don't turn anyone off. Thank you for comments and kudos.

The Invisible Man

The curtains were drawn and the bed room was casted into half-light. James sat on the chair as John slowly unwound the bandages from James’ head. Q stood back by the door waiting. As soon as the bandages were removed, John’s fingers smoothed over the healing scars surrounding James’ eyes.

“Well?” James asked.

“You tell me.” John said.

James blinked several times then turned and looked up into John’s shaded face. He turned and looked around the room till his eyes settled on Q. A broad smile came James’ face. It wrinkled his eyes and made Q want to burst out a cry of joy.

“Hello, Q.” James said with a smug tone.

“I’d say your eyes are fine. They’ll tire easy for a while so no reading or staring at something too long, but all in all, you’re okay.” John patted James lightly on the shoulder.

James never took his eyes off Q. He felt a deep warmth fill him as he watched the young man smile back at him. He never saw anything more endearing or special as the young man’s expression as he stood by the door. He looked almost impish with his dark curls and pale features. The lips James had wondered about were incredible dark red. The boy’s eyes seemed to brighten just as James smiled at him.

John slowly opened the curtains.

“Watch your eyes.” He said as the morning light flooded into the room.

The light passed over Q’s face and he blinked. “John, is he really going to be alright?”

“The shoulder is healing and his eyes don’t have any permanent damage. Captain Bond should be able to leave in about four days. The smile left Q’s face. James turned and looked at the doctor squinting his eyes into the light. John’s face was impassive as he looked at James.

“Four days?”

“Yes, your friend Trevelyan sent word he would be here then to collect you. You have orders to leave.” John stepped over to the table and picked up the used bandages. “I’ve never had a patient receive orders to leave before they were discharged by me. Someone thinks you are either invincible or you are very important to your commanders.”

“Maybe both.” James said keeping his expression as blank as John’s. Both men were summing each other up. Bond thought the doctor could be very good at playing poker. Maybe one day he could get the man into a game and take everything away from him. Especially Q’s attention.

John turned and stepped over to Q. He placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder. Bond want to growl but remained silent.

“Get him walking again, but inside. No direct sun for a few days.”

Q nodded and said, “Thank you, John. I know you took a risk.” Q reach up and patted the man’s shoulder. John nodded and took one more look at Bond before he left.

Q walked over the James who was still sitting at the table. “Are you ready soldier?”

“As long as it is just the two of us.”

Q smiled and held out his hand.

~Q~

Q helped James walk around Vauxhall that morning. Q was even more animated than normal. Introducing Bond to every one they met on their journey. Later, James had lunch by himself in the bedroom. He looked around the room while he ate. There were various drawings and wooden models Q had left in his room. Several were strewn across the cherry desk. There were drawings of rifles with scopes, and various vehicles. The young man’s interest seemed to be more in the mechanics of things instead of the object themselves.

After lunch he slept for an hour then woke. He was bored and wanted to talk to Q again. The hallway was empty as he started to walk towards the stairs. Out of the shadows a tall man in a black suit stepped closer to him.

“Captain Bond?” The man said with a remarkably still face.

James was surprised by the man’s stealth. He was tall and thin like Q. His hair was same wild curls as the young man. For a brief moment, Bond thought it was Nightingale. The adrinline surged through Bond’s body, but then he looked closer at the face. The man had a narrower face and broader shoulders. Q had mentioned two brothers. Mycroft and Sherlock. James was willing to take a chance.

“Mister Holmes, you sound doubtful.”

“You don’t look like a soldier.” Sherlock said letting his silver blue eyes move up and down the man’s frame.

“Then what do I look like?” The comment set off alarms inside Bond. Bond felt like an insect being studied by a scientist. He wondered if the dark hair man had a magnifying glass hidden somewhere on his person. The sharp pale blue eyes moved quickly over Bond pausing for brief seconds at certain points. Hands, wrist, shoulders, face.

“Not a soldier, but someone trained to kill. More confident than the average man but less than an idiot.”

“I think that was a compliment.” James said as he tried to act casual.

Sherlock sighed then turned to leave. “You’ll find my brother in the east wing reading to Corporal Dawson. Third left down the first hall.”

Sherlock disappeared around the corner before Bond could thank him. The meeting was disturbing and made James want to find Q all the faster. He followed the directions Sherlock had given him and found Q in one of the meeting rooms. He was sitting at a table with another man. Q had a book open and was apparently reading to the other soldier. James paused for a moment to watch the two. Every time he saw Q he noticed how his heart took a sudden leap sideways. He felt a warmth in his chest, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it.

He leaned back against the wall and watched. Q’s eyes were down and looking at the pages. His lips were moving as he carefully read every word. The pink tongue slipping out occasionally to wet the lips. Bond found the young man entrancing. It was an odd sensation he had never had before looking at another man.

He noticed Corporal Dawson was not actually paying attention to Q. His hands were folded in his lap, but Bond could see the man’s knuckles were white. He kept looking around the room at the different men there. Becoming more agitated when someone came near him. Bond recognized the symptoms.

He pushed himself off the wall and walked over to Q. As he walked across the room, the soldier looked up and stared at Bond. Bond could see the fear in the man’s eyes; like a prey trapped by a predator. Bond’s own territorial and animalist tendencies came rushing forward.

“Q.” his voice deep and clear.

“James! You’re up on your own!” Q smiled at James as he looked up.

The other soldier shifted uneasily in his seat and glared at Bond. “So this is whose been keeping you from the rest of us.”

“James, this is Corporal Ronald Dawson, Ronnie, this is Captain James Bond. This is the first time I’ve seen you up and alone. Have you been looking for me?”

“Yes, I thought we could go for a walk.”

“Let me finish reading this chapter to Ronnie. We both like H.G. Wells.” Q said as he opened the book again. “We’ll see if we can get two more chapters in before you have to return to your unit.”

Ronnie started to shift in his seat again. “Have you heard when they are sending me back?”

“Oh, Anderson told me it would be day after tomorrow.”

“NO! I can’t . . . not yet . . .”

“Ronnie, you’re going to be okay. We’ve talked about this.”

“Q, please, talk to them I can’t . . . not yet . . .” Ronnie looked around at the other men who were watching them. “The story . . . you’re not done reading it.”

James grabbed the book from Q’s hands and tossed the book into Ronnie’s lap. “Finish it yourself.” He grabbed Q’s arm and lifted the young man up and pulled him from the room and the terrified soldier.

“James . . . wait . . . why did you do that?” Q pleaded as James pulled him out into the hallway.

“You shouldn’t be alone with someone like that.” Bond said as he pulled the young man down the hall.

“Alone! What are you talking about? There were at least a dozen other men in there!”

Bond turned and glared at the young man. “The man is shell shocked. He will never be able to go back into combat. Don’t waste your time trying to fix him.”

“Waste my time!”

“He’s afraid to go back to the front. He’s a coward Q.” Bond had seen too many men with Dawson’s symptoms to trust the man’s actions.

“James, he’s sick! He’s been through hell!”

“We all have . . . we’ve all been through hell. He’s letting his fear rule his life. He’s irrational, a coward. England can’t afford to have men like that. You can’t risk being around men like that.”

Q yanked his arm away from James. “Damn it James, don’t you dare! . . . Don’t you dare call him a coward or questioned my loyalty. The Holmes have given more than you could ever imagine. My family has been devoted to England before your family was even British.”

Q marched away from Bond and returned to the room with the soldiers. James wanted to back after the young man. He recognized his feelings were unreasonable, but he feared for the young man. He had seen too many men like Dawson lose control and lash out in anger. He was filled with an irrational fear of Q being harmed. Bond went looking for Anderson to put a stop to it.

Sister Donavan was scolding one of the younger nurses about the proper method to roll bandages when Bond walked up to the woman. She drew her lips into a deep frown. She thought it made her intimidating but Bond found she looked like a pouty child.

“I’m looking for Dr. Anderson.”

“Why?” she snapped back at him.

“Because I wish to speak to him.”

“He will see you when he needs to and not before.”

James tried neither roll his eyes nor punch the infuriating woman. “Tell him, Corporal Dawson needs to be kept isolated until he is sent back to his unit.”

“Well, you know what I think . . .”

“Sister Donavan, it is quite clear what you think, but no one really cares. Just tell Anderson, Dawson is a threat to Mister Holmes.”

Bond turned as the woman sputtered at his comment. He caught a quick glimpse at the other nurse. Her face was bright with a blush as a smile teased at her lips. James walked through the house and back to the sitting room he had left Q and Dawson in. Both men were gone. James looked around but saw no sign of them.

He asked one of the other men in the room if they had seen the two. The man told Bond that they had gone outside to walk around the garden. The one place Bond could not follow. Bond slammed his closed fist down on the table. The ornate Chippindale rocked under the force. The other soldier stepped back as Bond cursed to himself. He knew he had made a mistake when left the room.

He waited till tea and the young man didn’t join him. When Molly brought up his dinner, James asked where Master Quincy was. She told him, the young man was dinning with his family. James sent his dinner back to the kitchen and sat waiting to Q to return to the bedroom.

At midnight he heard the outer door of the dressing room open and close. James waited by the lite fire for Q to come into the room and say goodnight. He waited and waited. Q never came in.

~Q~

The young man did not turn the light on in the dressing room. Q had told his valet he didn’t want his assistant that night. He undressed in the dark and quickly pulled on his pajamas. He slipped quietly to the door and turned the lock. He could not hear James and hoped the man was already asleep. He laid down in the narrow day bed and stared up into the darkness. The room was cold and he shivered slightly under the covers.

An hour after he came into the room, he was still awake. He heard a soft knock on the door leading into his bedroom. When Q didn’t answer, he heard another soft knock.

“Q?”

The young man didn’t answer James. He heard the door knob turn and James try and open the door. The lock held it closed. Q rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes.

It was a loud moan that woke him first. Then a crash like someone falling out of bed. Q flung the covers off himself and rushed to the door that separated the dressing room from the bedroom. He twisted the lock and opened the door.

In the muted light from the embers in the fire grate, Q could see the mussed covers on the bed. James was not it. He stepped further into the room.

“James? . . .”

Suddenly, he was shoved against the wall. A hand wrapped tight around his neck, restricting his air. Q gasped as his eyes flew wide open. James stood in front of him, bare chested. The fire poker in his hand. The blunted end pointed directly at Q’s eye. Bond’s face was frozen in a murderous rage.

“James? . . .” Q tried to whisper but without air, it was no more than a gasp. “Please, James . . .”

Q watched as the blonde’s eyes blinked. The pressure lightened on his throat, but the poker didn’t move.

“James . . . it’s me, Quincy . . . Q . . .” he whispered.

James twitched once then seemed to wake up. He dropped the poker and stepped back away from the young man.

“Bloody hell . . . what did I . . .” He looked back up at Q’s frightened face. “Did I hurt you?”

James brought his hand up to Q’s face, but the young man ducked away from it. Q’s eversion burned through Bond’s confusion. He had harmed Q. He nearly had killed him.

“OH God, Q . . . I’m sorry! Please believe me . . . I never meant to harm you.”

Q rubbed the bruise on his neck. “Why did you attack me?” Q’s voice was rough and raw.

“Nightmares . . . stupid I know, but sometimes my nightmares . . . I don’t wake up . . . or I do but think I’m still dreaming.” He stepped further away from the young man even though he just wanted to stay close and make sure Q was all right. “I’m sorry. It’s just a reaction to the fear from the dream.”

“It must have been a pretty bad nightmare.” Q said still shaking.

“Ask your friend Dawson. I’m sure he has the same kind of dreams.” James said as he walked over to the opposite side of the room putting as much distance between himself and Q.

“Ronnie? . . . If you know how frightened Ronnie is, then why did you treat him the way you did?”

“I was worried about you. He’s afraid. Fear makes you do stupid things. He could hurt you . . . I could hurt you.”

Q pushed himself off the wall and stepped into the middle of the room. He rubbed his red neck.

“James . . . anyone of the soldiers could hurt me, but no one has.” Q took a calming breath. “Not even you.”

James looked up at the young man. Q could see the anguish in the man’s eyes. James could see Q’s neck started to bruise. He felt hollow inside.

“I disagree with you.”

“I don’t really care.” Q tried to move closer to James but the man moved away avoiding Q’s touch. “James?”

“You should go back to your room . . . and lock the door. I’m not going to sleep tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Never sleep well after a nightmare.” James paced further away.

“Then I’ll stay with you. I can read to you or we can just . . .”

“Q, I’m not like Ronnie. I don’t need to be mollycoddled. Just leave me alone!”

“No, you need to get back into bed and get some rest. You’re healing and sleep is the best medicine.”

“Now you sound like fucking John!” James shouted. Q took a step back at the man’s outburst. “I’m sorry . . . Just leave me alone.”

Q nodded and turned around. He took three steps towards the door and paused.

“I get nightmares about being bombed again. I’m afraid of being trapped under a building again. I find talking to someone till I fall asleep helps. I usually don’t have any more nightmares afterwards.”

“Talking? You really think that is all I need?”

“I think that will help you sleep tonight.” Q turned around and stepped over to the bed. “Just lie down and I’ll sit here on the edge. We’ll just talk.”

Bond doubted it would work, but he decided it was better than spending the night pacing the room without alcohol. He stepped over and looked down at the tossed covers. He grabbed a corner and started to rearrange them. Q watched for a moment then helped James straighten the bed. When he was done, James folded them back and laid down.

“You should at least cover up while we sit and talk. You’ll get cold otherwise.” James said. He watched as Q argued with himself. Finally the young man pulled the covers back on his side of the bed and slipped underneath them. He rested his back against the headboard as Bond laid down. The blonde man took a deep breath and blew it out slowly from his mouth.

“I looked at some of your drawings. I hope you don’t mind?”

“No, what did you think?” Q said as an uncommon comfort flood through his body. He was talking to James again, instead of arguing with him. He preferred it this way, instead of the other.

The two men talked for another hour. Both yawned as the last of the embers burned out in the fire place and left the room in complete darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three hundred and six British soldier were shot as cowards in World War I. In 2006 they were pardoned and the Minister of Defence stated the Armed Force Bill would be amended to state these men died for their county as heroes. The men were suffering from PTSD also know as "shell shock" or "battle fatigue". During World War I, little was understood about the disorder and very little compassion was given to those suffering from it.


	8. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after Q falls asleep in James' bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the wonderful comments. As some of you know I don't have a beta so please let me know if there are any glaring mistakes. This story is getting longer than I expected. I hope you all still keep enjoying it.

Confrontation

Bond woke to a familiar and warm sensation. Someone in his arms. His nose buried against the curve of another person’s neck and the soft tickle of another person’s hair against his cheek. On reflex he softly kissed the warm skin near his lips. His arms tightened around the lithe body he was curled around. For a brief moment, James struggled to remember the woman’s name. Whom had he seduced the night before? Then he remembered. He had seduced no one. The body he held so close to his wasn’t a woman but another man. Q.

Bond had been involved in numerous honey traps while spying for England. Occasionally, those traps involved male targets. But he had never gone farther than getting the man into a compromising position. A heated kiss or an indiscrete embrace before a camera took the evidential photograph. Then Bond never proceeded further. Nothing more was ever asked of him.

For a brief moment, he loosened to grip. This was wrong. The young man would be upset, but then Bond returned to holding the young man tightly. Letting his senses enjoy the sleeping form beside him. The scent of the young man’s skin. Expensive French soap and cedar. The rich dark color of his curls. The pleasant warmth of his body next to James’. It was a forbidden pleasure. A brief moment of extreme indulgence. To hold Q in his arms. He felt his cock twitch as a warmth began to move through his lower abdomen.

He wondered why something that felt so good and so perfect could ever be called wrong. This young beautiful man, because beautiful was the only word that could truly describe Quincy Holmes. This beautiful man fitted so flawless in his arms, next to his body. As if they were created solely to be together.

James indulged himself one more time and gently kissed the pale skin under his lips. A quick innocent taste. Q’s skin was soft and slightly sweet, like hazelnuts in coffee. James sighed and closed his eyes. His forehead resting on Q’s shoulder.

The older man twisted to look at the window. The drapes were closed but he could see the pale light of dawn starting to peak around the edges of the curtains.

“Q . . .” he whispered.

The young man groaned and inched back into James’ arms. He hummed softly feeling comfortable. James struggled to do what was considered right.

“Q, you need to wake up.” James whispered into Q’s ear. “We feel asleep. You need to be in your own bed when your valet comes in.”

Q groaned as he stretched in James’ arms. He twisted and rolled over onto his back; he blinked as he looked up into the man’s crystal blue eyes. James watched as the sleepy young man smiled foolishly up at him. James felt a burning need to kiss those smiling lips.

“Q, are you awake?”

It took Quincy less than a second to recognize where he was and whom he was with. He ripped himself from Bond’s grasp and threw his feet over the side of the bed. He tipped and almost fell as he tried to stand up to quickly.

“Careful.” James tried to reach for him.

Q collapsed back down, sitting hard on the edge of the bed. He didn’t turn around to look at the blonde, embarrassed he had fallen asleep in James’ bed. He had never done that before. Not even with Alex.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t . . . I must have fallen asleep.”

“We both did.” James wanted to reach out and wrap his arms around the young man again. “It is alright. . . In fact, it was the best thing.”

Q twisted to look over his shoulder at James. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He knew when he woke up he didn’t want to move. He wanted to stay exactly where he was. He only fled the man’s arms because he thought James was upset.

“Really?!”

“Yes . . . Normally, I don’t sleep well after one of my nightmares. I don’t want anyone near me in case . . .”

“In case you have another?” Q finished the sentence.

“Yes, but . . . I didn’t have another nightmare. You kept them away.” James said with a soft timber to his voice.

Q thought it felt like honey being pour over him. James was not angry at him. Q could still feel where James’ body had been touching his. It was warm, almost feverishly hot. A forgotten feeling filled Q’s stomach as he looked at James with his bed tossed hair and earlier morning beard growth. He wanted to know how it felt. How it would taste to kiss those smug lips.

Q twisted away before James could read the desire in Q’s expression.

“I’ll go get in my own bed now.” The young man stood again and stumbled across the room. He opened the door to the dressing room but paused and looked back at the bed and James. “I’m sorry.”

“Please, it was just a mistake.”

Q nodded and disappeared into the darkness of the other room. Bond fell back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling in the room. He called it a mistake but it definitely didn’t feel like one.

~Q~

When Q woke an hour later, his valet was letting himself into the dressing room. He was carrying a silver tray with a tea service. He set the tray down on the table as Q stretched and rubbed his sleep filled eyes.

Q glanced at the open door between his room and James’.

“Shh, Meyer. Captain Bond is still sleeping.” Q whispered.

“No, he isn’t. He rose early and has taken breakfast with the other soldiers in the day room.”

Q blinked at the news. He felt an unreasonable jealousy towards the other soldiers. He wanted James to himself. Q shook his head to dislodge the thought.

“I guess Captain Bond is getting ready to leave us.” Q said sitting up slowly.

“Yes, sir. Do you want to wear your brown tweed today?”

Q didn’t want to think about clothes. He waved his hand in a dismissive manor, letting Meyer know he could choose whatever he thought best for the young man to wear. Q sat with his shoulders’ slumped had another nightmare so Q could spend the night with him again? So Q could feel the blonde’s body curled around his?

Q hated the fact James woke up first. He would have preferred to have been the one who had woken first and spend those few precious moments watching James as he slept. Cherish the feeling of the man’s arms wrapped protectively around Q’s body. The brush of James’ beard stubble across Q’s cheek. Secretively kiss the man while he slept. Q wondered what James would taste like. Alex tasted like vanilla and cream. He wondered if everyone tasted the same or would James taste different. Exotic . . . forbidden.

He closed his eyes and licked his lips. He heard Meyers clear his throat and Q’s eyes opened quickly to see the cup of tea held out to the young man.

“Sir, you have been asked to dress quickly and come downstairs.” Meyers said as Q took the offered tea.

“Why?”

“One of the soldiers disappeared in the night. Dr. Anderson notified the Royal Military Police and they want to ask you questions about the young man.”

“Question me? Why? Who was it that went missing?”

“Corporal Dawson.”

Q nearly dropped his cup of tea.

~Q~

The Red Cap only interviewed Dr. Anderson, who reported Dawson missing and Q, who was the last person willing to admit they had seen the young man. The abrupt officer spent an hour going over and over Q’s statement. Finally the two men came out of the library. James was waiting for Q.

The younger man gave a weak smile to James as the police officer walked passed them. Bond pulled Q close and looked carefully at him.

“Are you okay?” James asked in a hushed whisper.

“I’m just worried about Ronnie. I wish he hadn’t done this.” Q slumped against the wall. James leaned in next to him.

“It is probably for the better. I saw how high strung he was. He wouldn’t make it back into battle.”

“So?”

“Q, he would have been shot as a coward.”

The young man’s eyes grew wide. “But, he’s sick . . . it’s not his fault!” He raised his voice.

Several soldiers turned and looked at the two of them. James noticed their stares and grabbed Q by the elbow. He pulled the young man into the library and closed the door. The two men stood alone in the vast room. Q shaking with anger and fear.

“Why would they shoot him? It’s not his fault!”

“The army doesn’t see it that way. They expect every citizen to do their part . . . and for men like Ronnie it is to return to battle regardless if they are ready or not.” James rested a hand on Q’s shoulder trying to calm the young man.

“But it’s not fair!”

“Q we are fighting for our lives out there. It is more horrific than there are words to describe it. Some make it, some don’t . . . some end up like Ronnie . . . broken.”

“But you . . . you have nightmares and you . . . I know you didn’t mean it.”

Q watched as James eyes lost focus and his face took on a harder appearance.

“I know what I did . . . I would never forgive myself if you . . . regardless who did it, if you were ever harmed.” His hand moved from Q’s shoulder to palm the young man’s cheek. “You are unique and . . . special . . . I don’t even want to imagine you hurt.”

Q stood still looking into James’ remarkable blue eyes. The cold crystal blue that seemed to still burn with an intensity. The young man could feel the blush come over his face as James’ hand rested on his cheek. Slowly James’ thumb began to rub gently over the young man’s cheek bone. Q closed his eyes and took a step forward. He hoped what he was doing was going to be welcomed.

He wrapped his arms around James’ body and stepped closer to hug the man. James only paused a moment before he in turn wrapped his arms around the thin body before him. He closed his eyes and tilted his head in so the two men could rest their foreheads against each other’s. They did not say a word. They remained still and just leaned into each other, sharing the other’s breath. A moment to let their bodies synchronize.

Just as Q opened his eyes, James did the same. They stared at each other. Not moving. They missed the sound of the door opening, and the man stepping into the room with them.

“Quincy.” Mycroft’s clear sharp voice cut through the trance James and young Holmes were in. “I believe you should go and speak to Mummy about lunch.”

Q jumped back from James’ grasp. His eyes wide with fright as he stared at his older brother.

“Mycroft! When did you get here?"

“Came down on the early morning train. Mummy wants to hold a gala for the army.”

Q’s mind raced. He knew how it must have looked to his brother. He wanted to explain that there was nothing going on between himself and Captain Bond, but he couldn’t find the words. He couldn’t in good conscious tell his brother that it was completely innocent. Because from his side it wasn’t. He had woken up in the man’s arms, having fallen asleep in his bed the night before. And Mycroft hadn’t interrupted them, Q would have kissed James.

The young man shook his head. He couldn’t let his own desires and wants destroy the friendship he had with the older man. The possibility of jeopardizing their freedom with a criminal act. It was a good thing that Mycroft had stepped in when he did and stopped Q from making a fool of himself.

“Bond . . . isn’t it?” Mycroft said looked the blonde up and down.

“Sir . . .” James nodded and held his hand out. The two men were summing each other up. “Captain James Bond, Royal Infantry.”

“Odd . . .” A knowing smile came to Mycroft’s lips. “Quincy, Mummy is waiting.”

“Alright . . . James, why don’t you come with me? I’ll introduce you to our mother.” Q tried to direct James from the room.

“No, Quincy. I wish to speak Captain Bond alone. There are some questions I would like answered.”

The color drained from Quincy’s face. Bond remained impassive.

“Mycroft, I don’t think there is anything the two of you need to discuss. James is my friend and you don’t need to interfere.”

“I’m sure your friend would like to be my friend too.” Mycroft smiled.

Q heard a roaring in his ears and thought he might faint.

“Mycroft, whatever you need to say to James about me, you can say in front of me.”

Mycroft stepped around his brother and the soldier. He sat down in one of the leather backed chairs by the marble fireplace.

“I sincerely doubt, Commander Bond wants you to hear what I need to say.”

“Captain Bond . . .” Q started correct his brother as James gently pulled on his sleeve.

“It’s okay Q. I will speak to Lord Holmes alone and then I will find you.”

Q turned and looked at James. The older man’s face was unreadable. Q didn’t want to leave but he didn’t have much of a choice.

“I’ll be in the family room off the dining room.” Q looked back and forth between the two men. He was going to say something else to Mycroft but thought better of it. He stepped out into the hall way and closed the door.

James walked over and sat down in the chair facing Mycroft’s. He moved with confidence but also with caution. Like a man entering into a lion’s den.

“Imagine my surprise to have returned to my ancestral home to discover not only has my brother made a friend with a naval spy, but has ensconced that man in his bedroom.”

“You made a mistake, Lord Holmes. My name is Captain James Bond. Third Army.”

“Strange . . . I met a man three years ago. Commander James Bond of his Majesty’s Royal Navy. He looked just like you. So either you have a twin . . . which I doubt . . . or you switched branches . . . which I doubt even further.”

James remember the meeting three years ago. James never spoke to Mycroft Holmes at the time. Didn’t even make eye contact, he didn’t know how the man could remember him. Mycroft’s father was still alive and Bond had been there when the Lord and his son on a tour of the new ship. He was one of at least two dozen sailors the men met that day.

“More likely scenario is that you were sent here to spy on my family.”

“I can honestly say I was not. I was here as a patient.” James said trying to avoid any confrontation with the man. “I was injured in France and brought here for recovery. Your brother and I have become friends while I was recuperating.”

“Sincerely? . . . You smell of Gareth Mallory and his spies. What does that man want with my brother?”

“I do not believe Gareth Mallory is even aware of Q’s existence.”

“But you finally admit you are one of his spies?”

“If I admitted to being a spy . . . I wouldn’t be a very good spy.”

Mycroft let a smile slip past his lips. His blue grey eyes sparkling at James.

“Of course.” He stood and straightened his waistcoat. “I do not enjoy my home being invaded by Gareth Mallory or anyone from his MI6. I will have him wired and you will be leave tomorrow.”

“What if I choose to stay?”

“That would be unacceptable.”

“Then I would asked Q to accompany me back to London.” Again James watched as a knowing smile came and went from Mycroft’s face.

“That would be impossible. You see . . . I have placed Quincy in a conservatorship. I and I alone controls Quincy’s life. If I choose for him to stay he must stay, if I choose for him to go, he may go . . . if I choose for him to be confined to a medical institution for the mentally incompetent then . . .”

A sudden burning anger blazed through Bond. Quincy had told him he had to stay at Vauxhall. That his life was not his own. He never imagined it was true and Q’s own brother was his jailor.

“I have been told that Quincy disobeyed my orders and left here to go to the village and send a wire to your associate. Quincy will have to be punished for his disobedience. What do you think? Removal of his drawings and models.”

“The blueprints of weapons he created for you.”

Mycroft looked down at the other man. His expression hardened.

“Commander Bond you will leave my home tomorrow. You are never contact my brother again. This is final.”

James stared at the man for several moments then stood. “Quincy is an adult. If he wishes me to be my friend then we shall be friends regardless of your pronouncements. And may I say . . .”

“No you may not.” Mycroft interrupted James.

“May I say, you are the poorest example of a brother I’ve ever met.”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes at Bond.

“You will never know everything I have done for my brothers . . . both of them. Now, I can’t force you to leave my home, but you are not welcomed in our private residence. Leave.”

Bond held Mycroft’s glare for a moment longer, then he turned to leave. He wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize Q, but he would not be denied either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter some smut.


	9. Game of Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond finds a way into Q's bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next two chapters are smut. Had to finally get some in.

Game of Chance

Bond left Mycroft and immediately went looking for Q. At the foot of the stairs leading up to the private rooms for the family, the butler blocked Bond’s access. In his hand he held a small satchel.

“I need to speak to Master Quincy,” James said, trying to step around the man.

“Master Quincy is indisposed.” He held out the satchel blocking James. “Here are your belongs, sir.”

James looked at the satchel like it was a snake. His belongs consisted of the set of clothes he was wearing, one set of pajamas, and a shaving kit. He took the bag, but didn’t move.

“When will Master Quincy be available?”

“I can not say, sir.”

“Can not or will not?” James looked carefully at the older man. The butler was well trained, he didn’t flinch a muscle as James stared him down. “Please tell Q that I will be in the day rooms with Watson.”

The butler did not say a word, nor did he move. Bond thought for a moment of rushing around the older man when noticed the three footmen at the top of the stairs. It would ridiculous to cause a scene now. He would wait till he could get Q alone.

James went in search of a bed to sleep in that night. He asked Anderson and Sister Donavan for a rack, but neither would help him. Explaining the beds were for injured soldiers and not for lay a bouts. He finally laid claim to one of the sofas in the day room. He honestly didn’t think he would be able to sleep until he had spoken to Q.

After ten o’clock that night, he still hadn’t seen Q. The young man had not come down for diner and Molly said he was locked in his room. Furious, James tried to go back up the stairs but was again blocked by the butler and the footmen. He was contemplating a fight when John Watson pulled him aside.

“It’s not worth it.” John said. “You’ll get the stuffing knocked out you and still not get to see the boy. Sherlock told me, Mycroft has ordered him locked up until you leave.”

“That is ridiculous. Who does he think he is?”

“He is Lord Holmes. The most powerful man in the British government according to Sherlock and Quincy’s guardian. He can do whatever he thinks is appropriate in his own home. Remember, we are the guests.”

Bond growled as John took his arm and dragged him away from the stairs. The two soldiers ended up in a poker game with three Canadians. The doctor was surprisingly as good poker player. His easy charm relaxed the other players while his quick mind deciphered each players ‘tells’.

By midnight, Bond and Watson had cleaned out the three other men and were playing solely against each other. Bond had been incorrect in his assumption that John would be easy for him to read. The doctor who tended to wear his heart on his sleeve and his emotions in his eyes, did not when he was playing poker. His face was unreadable.

It had been a good game and the men were just about even. That is when Sherlock Holmes joined them. Bond noticed that Holmes took a seat; sitting close to Watson. Intruding on the doctor’s private space. Watson didn’t seem to notice and Bond wondered if this was such a routine situation that Watson had become oblivious to it or if it was welcomed closeness.

The two men played three more hands when Sherlock finally sighed.

“Honestly John. Why are you holding those cards?”

“Sherlock, you don’t play and you don’t know what a good hand is and what is not.” John tried to shift slightly out of Sherlock’s space. The dark haired man groaned.

“Poker is not different than any other aspect of life. It is deciphering the other individual and reading the clues.”

“They are called ‘tells’, Sherlock. And I know exactly how to do it . . . although, Captain Bond is a little more difficult to read than the other players were.” John nodded towards James.

A small knowing smile came to James’ face. It was a compliment and he acknowledge it as such.

“He will win this hand.” Sherlock said detached.

John glared at Sherlock. “I don’t believe so, now please shut up.” John turned back to James. He looked the other blonde over, then pushed his pile of chips into the center of the table. “All in.”

James took a moment to study John and then looked at Sherlock. The man’s silver blue eyes were fixed on John’s shoulder. He wasn’t paying any attention to James. For a brief moment he wondered if it was some sort of set up they had prearranged to confuse the other player.

James didn’t need to look at his cards again. He pushed his chips into the center with Johns. The doctor smiled and flip over his two hold cards to show the man he had a full house of Queens with fours. Bond looked down at his cards. He had a five, eight and nine of spades. He flipped over the six and seven of spades.

John’s eyes blazed wide.

“Do you know the odds of pulling to an inside straight flush?” He whispered harshly.

“Greater than one in twenty-five thousand. I told you he had the better hand.” Sherlock said with a tired affect.

“But . . . but . . . how did you know!”

“His ‘tells’, obviously.”

John sighed heavily and rubbed his face with his hands. “Sherlock, we are going to need to discuss the definition of figurative speech.”

“I am quite aware of the definition of figurative speech, I just don’t see the need for it. It is a waste of time.”

James smiled listening to the two men. He wondered if that is how it sound when he and Q would argue about nonconsequential things. Sherlock turned and looked at the man.

“So Bond, if we are supposed to engage in figurative speech tonight, then why are you wasting your time here? Aren’t you leaving in the morning?”

James leaned back in his chair. He didn’t like the scrutiny those silver blue eyes were giving him.

“Yes, I am.”

“My brother has grown quite fond of you. He doesn’t make friends easily.”                                  

“I don’t know about that. He seems to be quite friendly with the visiting soldiers. He is a very personable individual.”

Sherlock nodded his head in agreement. “He has achieved the one thing neither Mycroft nor I could. Camaraderie. He is comfortable around people and doesn’t find ‘stupid’ tedious.”

John sighed again.

“Maybe because he doesn’t refer to everyone else as stupid.” James said sarcastically. Sherlock waved him off.

“He can be personable but he doesn’t make friendships. None of us Holmes do . . . with a rare exception.” Sherlock glanced at John for a moment. “Quincy has chosen you as a . . . friend.”

James felt his heart beat hard in his chest. He knew he wanted more than to just be the young man’s friend. After he had woken up with the young man in his arms. After he had kissed Q’s neck and tasted the young man’s skin. After he felt the warmth of that lithe body next to his, he knew he wanted more. He wanted, but could not ask for.

“I consider it an honor to be considered Quincy Holmes’ friend.”

Sherlock watched the man carefully for a moment.

“It would be a shame for you to leave without being able to say . . . goodbye, properly.” Sherlock paused for a moment. Seeming to be carrying on an internal dialog. When it appeared he had made a decision, he spoke. “I do not agree with Mycroft’s treatment of Quincy. He is an intelligent young man quite capable of making his own choices.”

“I agree.” James said, waiting to see where this conversation was going.

“Did you know that this house was built over the course of four hundred years?”

“I knew that parts of the house were very old.”

“Yes, and when Cromwell came and ransacked the house, he tried to murder my ancestors. Because of that, the Holmes had always distrusted the government per say. They also allowed themselves an escape. Built within these walls are several unusual escapes.” Sherlock slightly waved his hand around the room.

“Hidden passages.” James wasn’t surprised. Even his home in Scotland had its secrets.

“There is a one that leads from the library bookcase to the bedrooms upstairs. Quincy and I explored and mapped out every one of them when I was a child.” James felt his skin prickle. A way to reach Q without being seen. “The passage is behind the bookcase with the bust of Shakespeare on it.”

“How very interesting.” James said.

Sherlock stood and stretched. “Come along John. I believe Captain Bond is going to get a book to read.”

The blonde doctor face was set in a scowl. “I don’t understand what happened between Q and his brother, but you two can’t do that. You’ll just get Q into more trouble.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about, John. I was just discussing the architecture of the house and Bond wants a book to read. Besides, Mycroft is asleep and his spies are elsewhere.” Sherlock turned to leave, with John quickly on his heels.

~Q~

It took Bond almost eight minutes to find the latch to open the hidden passage way. He stepped inside and closed the door. When it clicked shut, Bond was in complete darkness. He turned on his torch and headed up the narrow staircase. The passage was only eighteen inches wide and very claustrophobic. He moved silently through the cobwebs and the dust. At the top of the stairs was a narrow hall. Two doors led off to the right and left. James paused and thought about the floorplan of the house. He went to the left door and found the latch to open it. It clicked as it turned and surprisingly the hinges were silent.

The door was actually another bookcase within Q’s bedroom. James stepped into the room to see Q standing in the middle of room with a surprised look on his face. The young man had lit an oil lamp and it sat on the round table near the windows. The pale yellow light cast diffused colors through the room. Q was standing in his pajamas, his silk dressing gown hanging loosely off his shoulders.

“James! . . . you found the passage way.” Q whispered sharply.

Bond didn’t even stop. He rushed forward and slipped both hands on either side of Q’s face. His fingers pressing into the side of Q’s head. He stopped and stared into the warm hazel eyes. He hadn’t thought this through. He just acted.

 _‘What if this is not what Q wanted’_ he thought. Neither of them had actually stated their feelings. James thought he knew what he wanted but did he actually know what Q wanted. He waited to see what Q would do. What he would want.

James tried to read the young man’s face. It was open and innocent. James wondered if he should go on. Should he risk everything, his future, his career, even his freedom or should he not take that final step. Should he just simply leave and save both of them.

“James? . . .” Q’s voice broke into James’ thoughts. That wonderful, bewitching voice.

He knew he was lost.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Q’s. They were soft and warm. James heard a low whimper come from the young man. It caused a fire to start burning deep within the blonde. He moved his hands back. One wrapping around the young man’s neck and the other dragging fingers through his dark curls. He kissed Q again and rewarded by Q kissing him back. Hesitantly but still wanting.

Q leaned in to James’ body. The man groaned at the contact. Bond wanted Q, wanted to taste and touch. Hold and feel. He was in completely uncharted territory but he did not care. Q was responding to him.

The younger leaned heavily into the blonde. Q’s mind seeming to register only one thought. James was here. James was kissing him. He brought his hands up and wrapped them around the other man’s shoulders. He felt the drag of James’ tongue against his lips and he parted them, granting the other man access. Q heard a low growl come from James as the man moved from his lips to the young man’s neck.

A small nip to his collar bone revived Q enough to realize somehow James had removed Q’s top and robe. He felt the man’s warm hands moving down his naked back and around his thin ribs. James’ lips and tongue were burning a path across Q’s collarbone and down his chest.

He tried to regain some control and started to follow James’ lead. His fingers fumbled with the buttons on James’ shirt. James’ lips never left Q’s skin as the man wrestled to free himself from the cotton. Q sucked in a sharp breath when he felt James’ hand slip under the waistband of his pajamas. It moved back and cupped Q’s bottom.

“Oh, God . . . James!”

Bond had never been this far with a man before. When he stepped out of the hidden passage way he didn’t exactly have a plan but he knew he wasn’t going to quit now. He pulled back from kissing the young man’s neck and looked Q carefully in the eyes. In the half-light they were blown black with desire. The young man was weaving slightly as his skin was tinted pink.

“Q . . . I want you.” He watched as Q swallowed deeply and nodded. “I want to see you . . . touch you like a lover.” His voice was deep and rough.

“Yes.”

James grabbed the waistband of the pajamas and pulled them down. Q swayed slightly as James’ hand moved slowly down the naked thighs. He reached behind Q’s legs and lifted. The young man wrapped his arms around James’ neck as the older man picked him up. Without thinking Q wrapped his long legs around James’ bare waist.

James walked Q the short distance to the bed and laid the man down. Q was very still as he looked up at James.

“Let me see you, too” Q said in a whisper.

James slowly unbuttoned his trousers and let them fall down his legs. James watched as Q’s skin tinted darker. His hazel green eyes were black and hooded. James listened at Q’s breath hitched at the sight of the blonde man. A slow indulgent smile covered James’ face.

Q moved over to give James room. The older man knelt down and then stalked across the bed towards the other. For a brief moment he hovered over the smaller man, then James leaned down to recapture Q’s mouth. He moaned as the kiss broke and James went to work on the man’s neck.

James moved down Q’s body, kissing and lapping at the young man’s skin. It was so soft and smooth. Blemish free. James paused over Q’s groin. The young man’s cock pulled away from his body, stretching out from the dark curls. James took a deep breath. The scent of Q’s musk combined with cedar made James’ mouth water. Several of his female lovers had pleasured him in a manner he thought now he could do so with Q. He had never done this before, but he wanted to do this. He wanted to make the young man scream with pleasure. He took another deep breath and began.

Confused, Q watched as James lingered over his lap. Then he felt the warmth of James’ mouth surround his member. Q let out a deep long groan. His hand flew to his mouth where he bit down hard on the fleshy part of his thumb to stifle another sound. He felt James’ tongue slowly travel down the underside of his cock. The gentle sucking across the head and then the caress of the tongue at the slit.

“Oh . . . God . . . James, what . . . what are you doing?!” Q’s voice broke into a harsh whisper.

James concentrated on Q. He let the cock move to the back of his throat and he swallowed once. The young man twisted under him. Then he started a measured slide up and down the length of the organ. His hand massaging Q’s bollocks. He could taste the bitter precum. For a moment he considered stopping but listening to Q’s pleas and his moans, James continued. In seconds, he found himself becoming addicted to the young man and his body. The feel and scent. The sounds and taste.

James plunged down the length again and took Q deep into his mouth. The young man couldn’t control himself and bucked up into James’ mouth. The older man spread his hand out across Q’s lower abdomen and held him down as he suck gently pulling back off the cock.

James looked up and could see the young man watching him. His blown eyes and tormented face. Q had to touch James. Assure himself this was actually happening and not some torturous dream. His hand slipped down and rested on James head. James eyes closed as Q’s finger slid through the short blonde hair. James could feel the skin of Q’s bollocks begin to wrinkle and knew Q was close. He pushed Q deep again into his mouth. As the cock began to pulse he started swallowing quickly. Only a slight taste of bitterness at the back of his tongue.

Q’s body arched up into his release. A tightly strung bow of muscle and need. Q’s deep guttural moan shook his body as the waves of climax carried him off. Consciously he knew James had stopped and was looking up at him. His face resting in his hand but Q could still feel the sensation of James’ mouth on his body. The power of the man had over him. He shivered as the last wave washed over him. Q reached down and grabbed James. He pulled the man up. He kissed as he grasped James’ face between his hands. His tongue sweeping into James’ mouth, tasting the remains of his release.

James groaned and shifted over Q’s body. Straddling over the young man’s left thigh. His cock heavy and weeping with want. He pressed down giving the member needed friction. Q kept kissing him as James thrusted once into the man. He thrusted again expecting the young man to be disgusted by the idea of James literally humping his leg. Instead, Q encircled his arms around James’ shoulders. His free leg wrapping around James’ body.

“Yes . . . yes . . .” Q whispered between kisses.

James body gave in. He started thrusting hard and fast into the man’s leg. His face buried into Q’s neck. The scent of sweat and sex and something so especially Quincy, James felt light headed. His breathe became shuddering as he gave into his animalistic needs. The young man clinging to James’ body.

“Please, my love, come . . . cover me . . . mark me as yours.”

 _‘That voice! That fucking perfect voice!’_ James control broke and he bit down hard on Q’s shoulder. The pain made the young man arch up into James’ body. As the warmth of James’ release covered over both of them. The roar of his blood pounded in his ears, his vision washed away into white. He hadn’t come that hard in long time. His body ached from the release. He laid still panting hard. His heart beating as if he had run for his life.

“James . . .” A weak stifled breath came to his conscious. “James, I can’t breathe. Please.”

The blonde was crushing the younger man. James rolled off Q, expecting the young man to be rebelled by the mess James had just left on him. Q sighed then rolled into James side. His head resting on James’ shoulder.

“Are you alright?” James asked between deep breaths. Q hummed and kissed the man’s sweat coated skin.

“I’m perfect.”


	10. Private Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Later in the night between James and Quincy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some more smut, no plot.

Private Conversation

The two men laid together in the earlier morning. The oil lamp was still burning. A soft yellow glow covered them. Q laid in the cradle of James left shoulder. His dark hair rested under James’ chin. James’ hand stroked down boy’s abdomen, sweeping gentle with his fingertips. Their legs were tangled together.

James looked down at the young man in his arms. In the pale light, Q looked surreal. A fallen angel. With his long fluid body; the graceful bend of his frame. His semi-hard cock resting across his hip from its nest of dark curls. Q’s smooth and soft skin glowed as he sighed and leaned heavily into James’ chest. Q’s hand extended out and traced over the various scars on the other man’s body.

“What time is it?” Q whispered.

“Almost four, I imagine. I’ll need to leave soon.” James leaned down and kissed the young man’s forehead.

“Not yet. Please.” Q’s finger circled around James’ brown nipple. He watched fascinated as the skin started to wrinkle and pucker. “I’ve never seen anyone else naked like this before. I mean so intimate.”

“What about your lover . . . the one you told me about.”

“We never did anything like this. We held hands and . . . kissed once, but . . . no one’s ever touched me like this. I didn’t even know about . . .” He dragged his finger across James’ lips. “Have you ever . . .”

“Not with a man. No.” James took Q’s hand and kissed the knuckles. “I’ve never felt this way before about someone like you.”

“A man?”

“Yes. I didn’t know I could feel this strongly . . . possessively.”

James wanted to protect Q. Wrap him up and run away with him. For a moment he wondered if it was wrong to want the young man so badly. Then he remember what Q looked like just be for he came. What the young man had said before James climaxed. _‘Please, my love, come . . . cover me . . . mark me as yours.’_

“I have to return to London . . . I need to finish my mission, but when I’m done, I’m returning for you.”

Q twisted to look up into James’ face. “I’m a prisoner here. I’m not even allowed to go to the village unaccompanied. Mycroft won’t let you come back to Vauxhall.”

“I’m coming back and I’m going to take you away from here.”

“James?”

“I have a home in Scotland. An estate. Not as large as Vauxhall, but we would be comfortable there. I would make it comfortable for you. Anything you could want. My game keeper and his wife are the only staff and they won’t deny me anything. We would be safe. . . . If you don’t want to go to Scotland, I’ll take you anywhere in the world you want to go.”

“James, my brother . . .”

“He will never find us. I’ll make sure of it. Just come with me. Stay with me.”

“As your lover?”

“Please.”

“The only other person I ever loved besides you was Alex, Alistair Turner. We were at Cambridge together.” Q ducked his head and blinked his eyes trying to hold back the memories. Wondering if Alex and he would have ever done anything like what he and James have done. “He was killed in Verdon.”

James pulled the young man closer. He knew how bad the battle had been and how many men lost their lives.

“Was Alex the reason your brother had you placed in a conservatorship?”

“Yes.”

James held Q tight trying to keep the man safe from his memories.

“I want you Q. I want you with me. In my life . . . in my bed.” He tipped Q’s head back and looked into the young man’s hazel eyes. “As my soulmate.”

Q studied James face. He saw the want and determination.

“Yes.” He whispered.

Before he could finish the simple word, Bond swooped down and kissed Q’s lips. He held Q close to his chest as his hand moved down and started to slowly stroke Q’s member. The boy moaned into the man’s mouth. He pushed up to take control of the kiss. James let him. Q’s tongue hesitantly pushed into James’ mouth, tasting the man. James’ hand swept down Q’s back and over the globes of his arse.

James ended the kiss, then lightly and sweetly kissed the tip of Q’s nose.

“There are ways to have a connection . . . between two men . . . a physical act.” James started to explain.

Q looked up at the blonde. “Do you mean sodomy?”

James felt a sudden revulsion at the word, but it was exactly what he was purposing.

“Yes . . . would you be willing to . . .”

“Yes.” Q said quickly. He leaned up again and kissed James before he finished his words.

“Q, are you sure?” The young man nodded his head. “I will be careful. I’ll stop if you ask. I never want to hurt you.” Q nodded his head again.

“We need some oil.”

“In the bathroom . . . there is some mineral oil.” Q answered but didn’t let go of the man. James leaned down and kissed Q deeply. He could feel the hesitation in the boy, so James twisted them till he had Q trapped underneath. They kissed and touched and tasted each other. Their moans slipping into the sounds of their lips caressing.

When James could feel the young man pushing up into him, the boy’s needs taking hold, James rolled off him. Q whimpered as the sudden loss of the older man’s warmth. James allowed himself one moment of awe as he looked down on the aroused young man. The tint of Q’s skin, the darkness of his eyes. His kiss swollen lips and disheveled hair. A sharp spike of possessiveness pierced through Bond.

James went and retrieved the oil from the bathroom. As he walked across the bedroom, he poured a small amount of it into his palm. He arranged himself on the bed; with his legged folded, he pulled Q into his lap. The young man sat sideways, his head resting on James’ left shoulder.

“I will make this good for you, Quincy.” James placed a soft kiss to the man’s forehead as Q sighed.

He held Q gently as his hand started to slowly stroke the young man’s cock. Q whimpered at the first touch, then groaned and leaned heavily into James’ chest.

“You are exquisite. Beautiful is the only word that I know to describe you.”

James tightened his grasp and sped up the movement as he felt Q harden in his hand. James could feel a fire building inside himself. He pushed it down. He needed to concentrate on Q and hold himself back. Deny himself, but only for a little while.

Carefully he switched hands and moved his oiled right hand down between Q’s legs. The young man hissed with the first touch to his opening. James slowly massaged the creased skin. Smearing oil over the sensitive area.

“As I push in, you need to push down.” He kissed Q’s forehead again. The young man nodded.

James kissed Q’s lips as his finger breached the young man. Q moaned into James’ mouth. The fire deep within Bond flared brightly. He fought for control over his body as Q willing gave his over. Minutes later, when Q felt relaxed and pliant with James’ arms, he slipped in the second finger.

Half an hour later, James has three fingers in the young man and Q is begging James for more. He was clinging to the man, sweat lightly covering his warm body.

“Please James, now . . . please.” Q groaned as James plunged his fingers deep into the man.

James was fighting within himself. _‘Control’_ he kept muttering to himself. He watched as Q was pushed closer and closer to the edge. His hard weeping cock was being teased by James’ fingers. Q was open and ready for James to take him. The young man’s eyes were hooded and dark. His skin a dark blush of arousal. James couldn’t take much more.

He removed his fingers, listening to the whimper from the boy. Twisting Q to lay down, James positioned himself between Q’s long legs. He lifted them up and out of the way. James had to concentrate as he smeared the mineral oil on his own cock. He was having difficulty remaining composed.

He looked down at Q. The young man looked up expectantly, then he pulled his legs further back and out. James bit the inside of cheek, then he carefully pushed through the relaxed muscles and into Q’s body.

The young man’s eyes rolled back into his head for a brief moment. As James pushed further in, Q’s hands grabbed James’ biceps. His fingers squeezed tightly, bruising the man’s flesh. James forced himself to move slowly, but it was incredibly difficult. Q was so tight and hot. So incredibly hot.

James groaned as he slipped deeper and deeper. The need and possessiveness trying to take over. Q was moaning. His body tense but his words were begging James to keep going. James felt every gasp and spasm of muscles to further he went. When he felt he was as deep as he could go, he paused and looked carefully at Q.

The boy was flushed. His skin shining with sweat in the pale lamp light. James bent down and kissed the corner of Q’s mouth. Then he rolled his spine and pushed just a little deeper.

“Oh . . . James”

The blonde felt the words from inside himself. He rolled his spine again and again. Slowly building a pace. Gentle and measured. Q twisted under him and brought up one leg. James took the leg and rested it over his good shoulder. He pushed in deeper and suddenly Q’s body when taut.

“Oh . . . fuck, James . . .” Q shouted before he could stop himself.

The blonde stopped moving. “Did I hurt you?”

“No . . . no . . . something . . . do that again, please!”

James started to rock into Q’s body again, faster and with move power. After three strokes the young man let out a deep moan.

“Yes . . . there . . . oh, God . . . please yes . . .” Q’s voice was deep and low.

The fire that James had been holding back burst forth. It started to burn wildly through his blood stream.

“Please James . . . more . . . harder.”

The request was like gasoline being pour over the bonfire. The control began to splinter. James sped up and went deeper. Q’s body excepting each thrust with a moan and a plea for more. James watched and as Q muscles locked and seized. His body arched as a bow. The warmth of his release spread out between them. James felt the rhythmic squeeze of Q around his cock. He could only manage three more thrusts till he was coming deep inside the young man. His own release adding to the temperature of the boy’s body.

Bond groaned. It was an explosive climax. He couldn’t believe after having come just hours before he could have such a violent release. His body ached from this muscles clinching. Draining themselves of their strength. He caught himself before he collapsed on top of the young man. Gently pulling out of the man’s body.

Q pulled him down. Wrapping his long arms and legs around the blonde. His face buried into James’ neck.

“I love you . . . I love you . . . I love . . .” Q whispered over and over again.

James wrapped his arms around Q. His breath slowing as his mind cleared. James promised himself, that once he had Q away from here, he would never be separated from the young man again.


	11. Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guests arrive at Vauxhall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry just a short chapter this time. Next one will probably be in a few days. Also I see Tom Hiddleston as Victor Trevor. He just plays a great baddy.

Unexpected

Q woke alone. He knew he would but it didn’t lessen the bitterness. His skin still smelled of James. He groaned as he stretched. An ache to his body that still was remarkably satisfying. He smiled as he stood up. He took his first step and nearly fell over.

“Oh fuck.” He hissed.

Q straightened up again and took another hesitant step. He was going to need to soak this morning in his bath. There was no escaping the condition of sheets. Q was certain one of the maids would inform on him to his brother; but other than the evidence of the sheets, there was no proof that it was James who had visited him last night.

In the hot water, he sat pondering what his life would be like in Scotland. To be able to wake every morning next to that man. To feel the broad shoulders resting against his. To enjoy shared moments together, meals, walks . . . love making. Q sighed heavily, wishing James’ mission was already over so he could take Q away from Vauxhall and his family. For a moment Q felt sad that he had no regrets about leaving his family but then he thought if they had ever really treated him as part of the family then maybe he would have regrets. Now, all he had was James and his future with the man.

~Q~

Mycroft was fuming. First he arrived home to find one of Mallory’s spies ensconced in his house. Then his youngest brother has been collaborating with the man. Now, his personal assistant had taken an unscheduled leave without notifying him. If he learned the woman was engaged in one of her suffragettes meetings instead of assisting Mycroft he would have her head on a platter.

Fortunately, Anthea had arranged for a replacement. Mycroft considered the woman standing before him suspiciously. She was young and beautiful, but those qualities were wasted on him. Her eyes were dark and intelligent looking, but Mycroft didn’t trust appearances. He was going to send her away, until he read through the letters of recommendations Eve Moneypenny brought with her.

Mycroft handed her two handwritten letters of minimal importance to be translated into French and Italian and typed. Miss Moneypenny smiled and immediately went to work. Before Mycroft had finished his morning coffee, the woman returned with letters ready for his review.

“Very well done, Miss Moneypenny.” Mycroft narrowed his eyes at the woman. He felt something was not quite right. “Please find a dispatch on my desk. I need it translated into English.”

The woman nodded and quickly left. Mycroft would need to have his valet go into the village and send a wire to Whitehall.

~Q~

Q saw James standing in the foyer, waiting for the coach that would take him into the village. He was wearing the uniform the Sisters had found for him. The olive drab of an army officer. When James looked up the staircase and saw Q standing there, he couldn’t help himself. A small knowing smile came to his lips. Q wanted to burst out laughing; his skin took on a blush. He bit his cheek instead, and started down the stairs.

He forced himself to walk normally, but his body still complained. Mycroft and Sherlock came out of the morning room with Lady M. Mycroft saw his brother walking down the staircase. He stepped forward to block Q’s way towards Bond.

“Quincy . . .”

The young man side stepped Mycroft and walked up to James.

“I will be waiting.” He said softly taking James’ hand. “Please hurry.”

James nodded and shook Q’s hand. He gave it a gentle squeeze, then let go. He glanced over Q’s shoulder at Mycroft.

“Captain Bond,” Mycroft stepped up the two men. “I heard you are leaving today. So sorry to see you go.” His voice practically dripped with sarcasm.

“Yes, but do not worry, Lord Holmes. I plan on returning soon.”

Bond could see the anger flare in Mycroft’s eyes.

“That won’t be necessary. You’re presence here is pointless. I’m sure Mallory will find need for you somewhere else in the world. And quite quickly.”

“One can never be certain of the future, Lord Holmes, therefore one needs to be receptive to change.”

“This home has been in my family for over four hundred years. We do not see the need for change here. The Holmes are who they are by not being reeds easily bent in the wind.”

Q blushed at the comment. Lady M stepped closer and regard the three men standing there.

“Mycroft, introduce me to the soldier.” She ordered.

“Mother . . . Lady Emma, this is Captain James Bond of the Third Army.” Mycroft pulled his shoulders back and stood as tall as he possible could.

James held his hand out to the small woman. She was barely five foot tall. Remarkable given the height of her three sons. Her hair was silver white and her skin was soft and doughy, with fine wrinkles. Her actual age, James decide, was undeterminable. But her bright blue eyes showed an unyielding determination and intelligence. Of all of the Holmes he had met, James probably would fear Lady M the most.

“Ma’am.” He shook her hand politely. Bowing his head slightly.

“Bond . . . Bond . . . have we met before?” She let her eyes move slowly over his face.

“I don’t believe I have had the pleasure.”

“What a shame. I believe that knowing you would be very interesting.”

Mycroft cleared his throat. “Lady M, Bond is leaving. He has been recalled to London and will be leaving very shortly.” Mycroft emphases the last three words.

Bond smirked. Lady M regarded the three men carefully. “I feel I have been missing something important.”

“James and I have become friends.” Q voice quavered slightly as he spoke. He swallowed back his trepidation. “Mycroft did not approve of James’ and my friendship.”

Lady M raised an eyebrow then turned and smiled at Bond. “Excellent.”

“Mother!” Mycroft snapped.

“Mycroft, don’t forget that I was involved in politics before you were born.” Mycroft was about to say something when she cut him off. “Now how long has this alleged friendship been going on?”

“It is not alleged.” James said with a coldness to his voice.

“Obviously, Mr. Bond, Mycroft believes someone sent you here to make an acquaintance with my son. Is that true?”

Q’s eyes grew wide as he looked at the blonde. James did not move. He held his gaze on the small woman.

“No, our meeting was completely unintentional. I was injured in the trenches and your son aided in my recovery. He is a remarkable young man and I consider myself fortunate to be his friend.”

Lady M smiled, as Q blushed. Mycroft sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes.

The bell rang announcing visitors at the front door. The footman opened the door as Mycroft and Lady M went to welcome the new guests.

“James, I’m sorry. I don’t believe for a moment . . .”

James nodded and reached out taking Q’s hand again. “Soon, don’t worry. I promise.”

They heard the sound of a woman’s voice carry through the room. James glanced over Q’s shoulder at the three people who walked into the foyer. Two women and one man. Sherlock stepped up to James and Q. The older Holmes groaned as he watched his brother and mother welcome the new visitors.

One of the women had black hair and other, dark auburn hair the same color as Mycroft’s. The dark hair woman stared at James and Sherlock. A salacious smile came to her painted lips. She pulled herself away from Lady M and walked across the marble floor towards them. Her heels clicking on the tiles. She was exquisite. She was tall for a woman, with pale ivory skin. Flawless. Her hair was swept back into a curved chignon. The woman’s eyes were an intelligent dark green and her lips were a deep red.

She stalked towards the three men. James had the distinct feeling of predator confronting another predator. Both sizing up the other. Her dark hair shone like a coat of a jungle cat in the moonlight. Her green eyes flashed brightly.

“Irene Adler.” Sherlock said with a certain amount of foreboding in his voice.

“She is our cousin. Third cousin.” Q said softly into James ear. “The other two are Victor Trevor and his recently widowed sister Violet Hunter. Also distant cousins.”

“Sherlock, my dear, I’ve missed you so.” Irene’s voice purred. She leaned forward and kissed the man’s cheek. Sherlock didn’t move.

“I didn’t know you were aiming at me.” Sherlock said as he folded his hands behind his back not returning her affections.

“As always, certain of your presence at the center of the universe, Sherlock.” She turned attention from Sherlock to James. “Now, who is your friend?”

James held out his hand. “Bond, James Bond.”

Q had a sudden wave of jealousy run through him. He watched as James took the woman’s hand and shook it gently, remembering James’ letters from the female admirers. He watched as Irene’s eyes traveled up and down James’ body. The woman shifted her body to stand with a more seductive stance. James smiled knowingly.

“How charming.” She smiled. “Will you be joining us at the gala? I would so enjoy dinning with you.” She refused to let go of James’ hand.

“Captain Bond.” Mycroft’s voice was clear and sharp, drawing everyone’s attention. “Your transportation is here.”

“As appealing at that would be . . . I will not be able to attend.” His eyes were set on the woman but his attention was fixed on the man still talking to Lady M. Q’s cousin, Victor Trevor. Mid to late twenties. Six foot, maybe six one. Hundred and forty pounds. Sharp features. Narrow nose and high cheek bones. Broad forehead. Dark hair. Nightingale.

He kissed Irene’s hand and bowed. He turned to Q. “Remember what I said. I will return sooner than you expect.”

Bond acknowledged Lady Emma and Lord Holmes. The footman held the door for him as he left. He climbed into the backseat of the car, closing the door behind him. The driver immediately drove off, not giving Bond a moment to reconsider. It didn’t matter, he knew he would be back at Vauxhall that very night.

~Q~

Bond stood on the platform as the train waited to leave. He studied the faces of everyone getting on the train in the small village. At the next station down the line, he got off the train and lit a cigarette. He watched to see who disembarked. He didn’t recognize any of the faces. The people who did get off the train quickly left the station.

He was still standing on the platform as the train pulled away. He looked up and down the platform, except for the flagman, he was alone. He stepped to the window of the ticket office, rapping his knuckle on the glass.

The man behind the counter opened the window.

“Yes?”

“I need to send a wire to London.” James said as he reached for the pencil and telegraph pad.

“Yes, sir.”

James quickly wrote the note and the address down. _“Bird watching in Surry, stop. Won’t be returning, stop. Come quickly, stop.”_ He tore the paper from the other sheets and handed it to the clerk. The man counted the words.

“Twenty-five p”

James gave him the money. Then walked away. He buttoned up his coat and flipped the collar up. He had a twenty mile walk back to Vauxhall. He was sure by the time he arrived, he would be able to come up with a plan to sneak back into the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violet Hunter is from the Sherlock Holmes story the Copper Beeches.


	12. Mess Dress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Watson reflects on getting to know Sherlock Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the wonderful comments and kudos. It is very encouraging. I know this is an odd AU and not many people are interested. Thank you for sticking with it.

Mess Dress

John Watson groaned softly as he looked at himself in the mirror. Try as he might, he decided he would never look dashing in his uniform. He straightened the front of the jacket of his mess dress. His short stature did not accentuate the brilliant red jacket with its stiff collar and gold braid or the tight black trousers with their satin strip. A uniform was designed to make women swoon, but John thought it made him look ridiculous. All he could see was damaged surgeon. A man with tremor and scarred shoulder. A surgical career destroyed. A life left in ruins.

John stared at his reflection and thought about what had brought him to this house. His final days at the front where he actually felt he made a difference. He had been stationed with the Northumberland Fusiliers, a RAMC officer with the troops. He remembered the look of fear in the young men’s eyes as they stood paused before climbing over the walls of the trench and into the fight. He tried joking with a young man from Cardiff, Norton. The boy was only eighteen. He could smell the smoke of gun fire. The burning scorch of death hanging around them. The crash of artillery, that rained dirt down on them. As their hearts beat wildly in their chests, they heard the piercing trill of the whistle. The men started to climb up the ladders and over the dirt barricades, into ‘no man’s land’.

White smoke obscured their view. Objects came out of the mist like shadows rising from the fog. First the barbwire, then a dead trees. Next came the bodies. Hundreds of them. The soldiers marched to the abandoned trench not fifty yards from where they started. The men jumped down into the muddy gully and started to spread out. John followed them. His pistol in his hand, his medical kit swung over his shoulder. Not a single shot had been fired. They moved through the warren of crevasses and gaps. No one saw the enemy. There were no German troops. It seemed too easy.

Norton, the young man from Cardiff smiled back at John as he patted the doctor on the back.

“Scared the bloody Huns away, did we?”

He reached down to pick up an abandoned German helmet. A souvenir to send home to his family. John saw it happening in slow motion. He shouted but the boy lifted the helmet before John could stop him. The bomb exploded. Other bombs went off in sequence down the trench. A trap set by the Germans. Men screamed as bodies were torn apart.

John rushed forward and knelt over the boy. His right arm had been blown off. His right side was black and red. John could not distinguish uniform from torn flesh. Watery blue eyes were begging John to make it stop hurting. He tried to stop the bleeding. He spoke to the boy, telling him he would be alright. He never saw the German soldier on the edge of the trench. He couldn’t be sure if he even heard the report of the rifle. He did feel the burning pain as the bullet passed through his body. He felt the air being punched out of his lungs.

John fell forward and onto the dying soldier. His own blood mixing into the mud with the boy’s blood.

John woke up in a field hospital in France. A week later he was returned to England. A month later he arrived at Vauxhall. Broken, forgotten, worthless. Then he met Sherlock.

~Q~

John had been at Vauxhall for just over a month, when he was woken by a determined shake of his uninjured shoulder. John shared his sleeping quarters with several of the orderlies who had been stationed at Vauxhall. He didn’t mind and in fact he preferred it to sleeping in the same room with the superior officer, Major Phillip Anderson. He found Anderson pompous and ineffectual.

The orderlies also didn’t comment on John’s numerous nightmares. Most of them had been in combat and were aware of the stresses the doctor had been under while at the front.

John thought for a moment one of the orderlies were waking him up.

“Bloody hell, can’t a fucker get a night’s sleep without being buggered!” he growled as he shifted away from the hand on his shoulder.

“Captain Watson. Wake up. You are needed.” The voice was educated and sharp.

John rolled over and looked up at the man in a satin and velvet quilted dressing coat. He was tall and pale with a narrow nose and sharp blue grey eyes. John sat up quickly.

“Who are you?”

“Mycroft Holmes. This is my house you are in. Now your services are needed, follow me.”

John kicked the covers off his legs and stood up. He grabbed his wool house coat and followed the English lord.

“Sir, are you sure you want me. Dr. Anderson is the commanding officer of the hospital.”

“Yes, I am quite aware of who is who within my home. Dr. Anderson would not be suitable for this job. You are.”

John rushed to keep up with the man’s long legs. He wondered what he was getting into. Obviously something unsavory, since Holmes didn’t want to bother the commanding officer. Holmes marched through the house and to the private quarters of the family. He approached a wooden door, just a crash could be heard through the heavy oak. Holmes unlocked the door and held it open for John to enter.

The room was a shambles. Tables were turned over and books were tossed across the room. The covers on the bed were ripped from the mattress and piled in the corner. Curled up on the floor in the middle of the chaos was a man. Dark haired and long limbed.

John worked his way across the disaster and bend down over the man. He check his pulse rate and his breathing.

“Your brother?” the doctor asked without looking back at Holmes.

“Yes . . . he was held as a prisoner by the Serbians for several weeks . . . He developed . . . cravings.”

John looked at the man’s arms and saw the various bruises from injections. He also saw the marks on his wrists of restraint. John check the man’s eyes. The pupils were blown wide. A thin skim of sweat across the man’s cold skin. He was shaking.

“Is it a . . . over dose?” Holmes asked.

“No . . . panic attack. Why did you lock his door?” John said sharply as he wrapped his arms around the man’s body. John stood and pulled the young man up with him. The dark haired man collapsed into John’s body. He carefully laid the man on the bed. “Get us some chamomile tea and then a bath.”

“But . . . he uses . . . Sherlock abuses opium.”

“Well, he may be an addict but this is not a drug over dose. His pulse rate is erratic and his breathing is shallow. Now get that tea.”

Mycroft followed the doctor’s orders and went downstairs. John tried to get Sherlock lay down. He pulled the man’s shirt off. It was soaked with sweat and clinging to his body.

“Why are you sure this isn’t a drug overdose?”

John paused in his disrobing of Sherlock to look into the man’s flushed face.

“Opium and opioids would slow your heartbeat. Cocaine would constrict your pupils. Your pulse is rapid and your breathing is shallow. You’re sweating and your muscles are cramped. According to your brother you were held prisoner and the idiot locked you door.” John returned to removing Sherlock’s clothes.

“Correct.”

“My diagnosis?”

“No, your assumption of Mycroft. He’s an idiot.”

John looked up to see the man trying to smile as his body kept shaking. John smiled back at the man.

“So why did your brother lock you in the room?”

“Because I am a user.”

John looked sideways at the man.

“Not a brilliant idea.”

“It aids me . . .” Sherlock was still shaking. He tried to sit up. “I need it to help me calm my brain.”

“Calm your brain. It will bloody kill you.”

Sherlock wrapped his arms around himself. “Use doesn’t mean addiction and abstemious does mean immortality.”

“Well, I can see how well it’s worked now. What else do you use besides opium?”

“Cocaine. I needed to sharpen my thinking.”

“Obviously it didn’t work.”

“Oh but it did. You’re a doctor.”

“Yeah, your brother introduced me as a doctor.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “You’re a doctor who was shot in the shoulder. You’ve seen active duty and not stayed safely behind the lines. You are suffering from your time in the front. You have a psychosomatic limp.”

“What do you mean psychosomatic, I have a limp! I use a cane!”

“Where’s your cane now, doctor?”

John looked around himself. He didn’t have his cane. Holmes waking him like he did, John had left it behind. He hadn’t needed it. John turned and looked stunned at Sherlock.

“How did you know?”

“I saw you walking with it when I first arrive here this morning. I noticed you leaned heavily on it but didn’t request a chair to sit in when you stood still. Like you forgot you had an injury.” Sherlock licked his full lips and pulled the blanket back over his sweating body. “Someone close to you is also an addict.”

“No . . .”

“Yes. When Mycroft told you about the drugs, you weren’t revolted, but angry. You’ve known someone close to you who has an addiction. You also showed concern for my safety. More than two some ones. A father and . . . brother? You had stress lines around your face. Your expression has saddened as we have talked. You fear for them. The addiction is ongoing.”

“My father died of drink.” John said very softly. “My . . . sister also drinks to excess.”

“Sister, sister . . . damn it, it is always something.”

“You said that I suffer from my time at the front?”

“You have a psychosomatic limp, of course you are suffering.”

Mycroft entered the room and set a tea service on the bed. John poured a cup of tea and spooned a large amount of sugar into the liquid.

“Drink this, then we will get you into that bath.”

Sherlock held out his shaking hand and took the cup.

“Dr. Watson, you are sure this is a panic attack and not drug related?”

John looked pointedly at Sherlock. The man looked up at him over the rim of the cup. John could see the red rimmed eyes and the closed off expression. Suddenly John was taken by the unusual color of Sherlock’s eyes. Silvery green with flecks of icy blue. Sherlock’s face was neutral but John already knew he could read the fear in the man’s eyes.

“Panic attack, Lord Holmes. Don’t lock the door.”

“My mistake. I won’t be making it again.”

“If you are worried about your brother wondering off, I will stay with him tonight to make sure he stays put.” John said as he looked pointedly at Sherlock.

Mycroft considered the doctor then rocked back on his heels, “No Dr. Watson, that won’t be necessary. I will have one of the footmen spend the night in here. He can help Sherlock straighten the room up.”

Sherlock looked at John one more time then shrugged his shoulder slightly as he took another sip of the tea.

“Sir, I’ll need to stay with your brother tonight and make sure he doesn’t have another episode.”

“No doctor.”

Sherlock interrupted Mycroft. “Get this man out of my rooms. I don’t need some incompetent hovering over me.” Sherlock snapped.

“Sherlock, it is up to me to decide what is best for you until you are completely recovered. If Doctor Watson feels the need to keep you under observation, then you shall stay under observation.”

“I refuse to allow it!” Sherlock shouted.

“You will calm down and do as the good doctor tells you.” Mycroft turned back to John. “Doctor, your patient needs you and I will expect a full report in the morning. Edgar will be in to assist with the bath.”

“That won’t be necessary, Lord Holmes. I believe I can wrestle your brother into the water.” John gave a wicked smile to Mycroft. Sherlock huffed and finished his tea. Mycroft smiled, believing he had a conspirator in John he left the two men alone.

As soon as the door was closed, John took the tea cup away from Sherlock and poured him a second cup.

“Must I . . .”

“Yes you must. I want you to drink at least three cups. It will slow your heart down and regulate it.”

“How?” Sherlock asked taking the second cup of tea.

“What?”

“How will it regulate my heart rate?”

“Oh . . . the chamomile . . . foxglove . . . it works on the heart.”

“Ah . . . a poison?”

“Well, in large amounts, yes.”

“I’ll need to do some experiments on it then.”

“What?” John asked as he started to right the furniture in the room.

“Experiments, determine the toxicity of the herb.”

John looked around the room. He picked up the strewn linens and replaced them on the bed. “In the morning. I want you to take that bath now. It will also help to calm you down so you can rest. A good night’s sleep is the doctor’s orders.”

“Sleep is boring.”

John laughed. “I’m sure you find most bodily needs boring.”

“Good, you’re a quick learner. Now back to the drug . . .”

“No, tomorrow foxglove, tonight bath and bed.” John set his hands on his hips staring Sherlock down.

Sherlock studied the man for moment, then smiled. He stood up and let the blanket fall form his near naked body.

“Whatever you say doctor.”

John watched as Sherlock walked into the dressing room with the bath tub. John didn’t delude himself. He didn’t win the argument, but Sherlock let him have the illusion of success. The man was plotting something else.

~Q~

John sighed as his memories of that night came to him unbidden. He remembers seeing the healing scars across Sherlock’s back. The man had been flayed with a whip. There were dark bruises across his arms and legs from beatings. The Englishman had suffered. He had been tortured by someone who enjoyed it.

He helped Sherlock into the bathtub and stood by as the man washed the sweat from his skin. The repugnant smell of drugs clinging to him. Sherlock leaned back and closed his eyes as John studied the man’s face. Long lean lines, sharp cheek bones, skin pulled taut over muscle and bone. Apparently, Holmes had been starved as well as beaten during his imprisonment. His collar bone and his shoulders looked like they were right under the surface of the skin.

“You should eat something too.” John said. His voice seem awkwardly loud in the room.

Sherlock opened one eye and looked up at the blonde doctor.

“Is that your medical opinion or is a well-nourished body more inducive to fantasy.”

“What! . . . What are you implying!?”

“Just that in the last twenty minutes, you’ve licked your lips five times while your eyes have been locked on either my lips or my neck.”

“I apologize, I meant nothing by it.” John swallowed a dry lump in his throat. Sherlock closed his eyes again, smiling. John shifted awkwardly then said. “If you wish, I will leave you alone.”

“No, I do not wish . . . you are the first person I’ve spoken to in months that doesn’t irritate me.”

“Does that include your captors?” Sherlock opened his eyes again at the soldier/doctor. “I’m sorry.” John said. “That was cruel.”

“No, it was truthful. They were tedious. Asking the same question over and over again. As if I would finally answer them.”

“Where were you? I mean who did this to you?”

“Serbians at first . . . then Croatians . . . I was going to be given up to the Turks but Mycroft intercepted my transport and . . . brought me back here.”

“You don’t sound pleased.”

“I was still acquiring information. His sentiment stopped me from doing my mission.”

“You were a prisoner. You were being tortured!”

“I was gather important information about troop movements from behind the scenes.” Sherlock sat up and reached out for a towel. “I may have gotten in a little over my head, but nothing I couldn’t have gotten out of.”

John looked over the bruised and battered body before he handed the towel to the man. “I sincerely doubt that.”

“That is because you don’t know me yet . . . but you will.”

~Q~

Two months later, John burst into Sherlock’s private rooms. The acrid smell of burning chemicals permeated the room. Sherlock was hunched over a table looking at the effects of cytotoxins had on the portion of pig skin he had in a metal pan. With the bang of the door against the wall, Sherlock looked up as the angry doctor marching in.

“Where is it, Sherlock?!”

“Where is what?” Sherlock asked with an indifferent attitude.

“The morphine! Where is it? You took it.”

“John, I most certainly did not.”

“It is missing from the pharmacy. You are the only addict I know of living in this house. Where is it?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Just because I indulge in a little pharmaceutical experimentation does not mean I took your morphine.”

“More likely you than anyone else.”

Sherlock leaned back in his chair as he studied John’s red face and clinched fists. “You actually believe it was me?”

“You practically bragged about you drug use to me. The morphine is missing and there are men who truly need it. They are suffering.”

Sherlock stood and walked pass John and into the hallway.

“Well then, let us go look.”

Flabbergasted, John didn’t know what else to do but follow the man. The two men moved into the east wing of the Vauxhall and into the small closet that was being used as a pharmacy closet. Sherlock paused for a moment and looked around the room. There was a desk with a ledger and an oil lamp on it. He glanced at the names present. Then he went to the locked cabinet and ran his finger down the seam of the two doors. He used a magnifying glass to examine the lock.

“How much was taken?”

“A whole vile. Twenty grams.”

“What else was taken besides the morphine?” Sherlock asked.

“Two syringes and some needles.” John said. “Anderson doesn’t know anything about it yet, but if Sister Donavan finds out, she’ll be sure to go running to him next.”

“She shouldn’t.”

“Why?” John asked as Sherlock moved over and flipped through the pages of the ledger. Sherlock stepped back to the cabinet and picked up a small piece of thread that was snagged on the wooden frame of the door.

“Because one of her sisters is responsible for the theft.” He held up the thread.

“A thread? That’s your evidence?”

“It is not a thread. It is a piece of hair . . . Long red hair . . . female not male . . . not one of the maids.”

“No telling how long that’s been there.” John countered to Sherlock’s discovery.

“It is snagged on the inside of the cabinet. The woman had to reach deep inside with her upper body partial inside to get her hair snagged there like this. Since the sisters were white scarves to cover their hair while working, she had to have done it when she wasn’t in uniform.” Sherlock stopped his search and stepped out of the room. “I believe Sister Agnes McElroy is a ginger.”

“She could have left that there at any time.” John snapped at Sherlock.

“She has not signed any drugs out of the cabinet in over a week. You said the drugs went missing last night. She is also engaged to one of the soldiers in the ward.”

“How the devil would you know that?”

“Sister McElroy is wandering around the wards at night out of her uniform. Her hair is down. She finds need to steal morphine and a syringe. If it was for herself, she could do it during the day while she is on shift. No, she does it at night when she is not tending to the soldiers. She is getting for someone else, and it is not planned in advance therefore she is willing to risk being caught at the most difficult time for her to explain her presence in the room with drugs.”

“Maybe she took it for someone from the village?” John offered. He no longer questioned if the woman was guilty or not.

“The house staff would have notified me if villagers had been around. Also the soldiers are highly suspicious of strangers appearing on the grounds. Have any of them mentioned seeing someone who shouldn’t have been here?”

“No.” John kept following Sherlock as he started moving through the various rooms with recuperating soldiers.

“Besides the sisters don’t interact with the tradesmen, so she would never have met anyone outside the house. Therefore, she stole the drugs for someone she is willing to risk her position for, her career for, and her freedom for.”

“A fiancée.” John said finally agreeing with Sherlock.

Sherlock walked into one of dayrooms to see Sister McElroy sitting next to a young officer with a server injured led. The man was pale. Sherlock and John walked up to the woman and man.

“Sister McElroy,” Sherlock said looking down at the seated woman. “I think you have something you need to give back to Doctor Watson.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” She looked up at the two men with wide fearful eyes.

“John, your evaluation of Captain Small.”

John stepped nearer and looked the man over carefully. Smalls eyes were dilated, but unfocused. His skin clammy. John took his pulse; it was slow but steady.

“Agnes, how much have you given him?” John asked softly.

The sister looked back and forth between the two men. “I don’t know . . .”

“Agnes, he’s on morphine. I know that Major Anderson discontinued his prescription for Captain Small. How did he get it? How much did you give him?”

She took the man’s hand. “The same dose Major Anderson had been giving him, half a gram.”

John covered his eyes with his hand. “Damn it, what were you thinking?”

“He was is such pain and Major Anderson wouldn’t give him anything. I couldn’t let him suffer . . . we . . . we are engaged.”

“Return the drugs to the pharmacy and I will speak to Anderson.” John said with a sigh.

“Are you going to tell Donavan?”

John looked at the woman. Then shook his head.

“No, but when Small leaves, you will need to leave too. If any more drugs go missing I will tell both of them what you have done.”

John could see the tears slipping from the woman’s eyes.

“Thank you, Doctor Watson. Thank you.”

John turned and walked away from the woman and the injured man. He could feel Sherlock stepping up close behind him.

“Thank you, Sherlock and . . . I’m sorry I thought it was you.” John said softly as they walked back through halls, passed the other patients and soldiers.

“It alright John. I haven’t presented myself in the best light to you.”

“No, on the contrary. What you did was remarkable.” John said a little be louder.

“What?”

“What you did. Figuring out who did it and why. Extraordinary. Quite extraordinary.”

“You actually think so?” Sherlock seemed surprised by John’s answer.

“Yes, Sherlock. You are remarkable.” John smiled at the taller man.

Sherlock smiled back and promised himself he would do whatever he could to make John Watson smile again.

~Q~

John Watson wondered how he got himself into such a ridiculous situation. It was one thing to sit and talk with Sherlock Holmes. Occasionally, help him in his unusual experiments. But now John was expected to attend a diner in full Mess Dress. To sit in the formal dining room of Vauxhall with Lord Holmes and Lady Emma and use the correct fork while doing so.

John collapsed in the chair. He knew he was not going to survive the evening. There was a knock on the door.

“Come . . .” John shouted.

The door banged open and Sherlock stepped into the room. He was dressed in his black diner jacket and slim trousers. His black silk tie was tied expertly around his slender neck. For a brief second, John found a burning need blossom deep inside himself. _‘God, he is a gorgeous man.’_ John thought to himself.

“Come along John. This should be an interesting evening.”

John jumped to his feet. He always seemed so eager to follow after Sherlock.

“Really? Why?”

“I think the person who was responsible for my betrayal will be dining with us tonight.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little picture to show how dashing the uniform is. And how uncomfortable.


	13. Nest of Vipers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the wonderful comments and kudos. I'm glad you are enjoying the story. We will get back to James and Q in the next chapter as John and Sherlock begin to get closer.

Nest of Vipers

After Bond left, Quincy sequestered himself in his rooms. Mycroft hadn't complained. He was relieved the young man was brooding in his rooms. Mycroft didn’t want any more drama. Dinner was going to difficult enough with his brothers, his cousins and the army officers.

He was having a late tea with his new assistant, Eve Moneypenny. Taking a little respite before he had to eat dinner with the vipers.

“Those four letters I dictated to you today, I want copies of them set aside for translation into Russian.”

“Yes, sir.” Eve smiled demurely as she poured the man a cup of tea. “Cream . . . sugar?”

“Yes, one please.” He kept his eyes on the report he was reading, but he noticed the woman expertly prepared his tea. She held the cup up for him to take and remained completely silent until he did. “I also want copies of the all the wires that were sent yesterday by Wilson.”

“Yes, sir. I have already received the copies. They are sitting on your desk. Do you wish for me to get them?”

Mycroft had not yet let Eve be alone in his office. Until he had her thoroughly checked out he wasn’t going to let her be alone in there.

“No, that is not necessary.”

There was a firm knock, then the door of the sitting room opened and Violet Hunter entered. She was an attractive woman in her late-twenties, but chose to dress in a fashion that did not accentuate her assets. The simple grey wool suit and mid-calf length black skirt were appropriate but not the latest fashions. She wore a simple gold and pearl broach at her neck, closing the collar of her white blouse.

“Excuse me, Mycroft, I was hoping to have a moment to speak to you alone.” She said with precise British diction.

“Certainly, my dear. Please sit down.” He turned to the other young woman sitting beside him. “Eve that will be all. I will retrieve the wires myself. No need for you to return for the rest of the day.”

Eve Moneypenny smiled sweetly and stood. She nodded to Violet and excused herself.

“She seems competent.” Violet said as she took Eve vacated seat.

“I do not trust her.”

“Oh?”

“She came to me as a replacement to my regular assistant, Anthea. I can’t find anything wrong with her, but . . .”

“The time is suspicious. Too well trained to be a temporary secretary.” Violet finished Mycroft’s comment.

Mycroft smiled and closed his eyes to with a nod. He did not like his relatives but he did like Violet Hunter. She was a third cousin, distantly removed. She was intelligent without arrogance. Sharp eyed and principled. Unlike his other cousins, Irene Adler and Victor Trevor, Violet seemed to never enjoy intrigue.

Mycroft admired the woman’s quick perceptions and clear thinking. Nothing mottled the woman’s understanding like his other two cousins.

“Yes, my dear. Very well said.” He poured her a cup of tea and handed to the young lady. “Now, how may I aid you?”

Violet took a sip of tea and seemed to compose herself. “Mycroft, you have always been someone I could turn to as an advisor.”

“Certainly, I would be able to advise you, but I have never questioned your intelligence, Violet. You are quite capable of making your own decisions.”

She smiled briefly and acknowledged his compliment. “Thank you, but I feel the need to consult someone I trust. As you know, my husband, Francis Hunter, passed away last year. I have tried to remain at our house in Geneva, but Switzerland is not my home.”

“I was aware of his death and you still have our condolences.”

“Thank you, but I find that I dearly miss England. I seem to be spending most of my time here in England with friends, but that can not continue. My father and his second wife are both dead. I am not close to Trevor, even though he is legally my brother, and my only other family, other than the Hunters living in Salzburg, are my maiden aunt in York and the Holmes.” She took another sip of tea. “Would it too boorish of me to impose myself on the older woman. I mean her rooms are moderate and her income is small.”

“Is there a reason you do not wish to come and stay at Vauxhall?” Mycroft asked.

“Mycroft, I am more than able to pay for my upkeep. I will not be the poor relations imposing on my rich cousins.”

“And we would never consider you that way. You would be more than welcomed to come and stay here at Vauxhall with Lady M and Quincy. In fact, it would be of great service to me if you did. Quincy is in need of people his own age who are not rash.”

“It would be myself and my chauffeur, Lenard. He was Francis’ driver and I promised to keep him employed.”

“Of course, not a problem.” Mycroft smiled.

“Would you be able to visit often . . . I know you are very busy in London, especially because of the war, but would you be able to spend time here too?” She looked earnestly up at the man.

“I believe I need to spend more time here. Quincy needs to be taken into hand.”

Violet set her cup back into the saucer. “Then I would be very relieved to come here to Vauxhall. I so dearly enjoyed visiting in my childhood.”

Mycroft smiled. It would be good to have the woman here for his mother and for Quincy. Maybe he could even find more time to come down from London.

~Q~

It was just after noon when Bond stepped back onto the property of Vauxhall. He had hiked the twenty miles from the other town and was now hiding in the woods. He stayed deep in the grey ash and elm trees, circling slowly around the house. He was looking for a way back into the house that wouldn’t get him caught. In his career he had broken into numerous houses, and estates, but never before had he been unclear on the reasons why he was breaking in.

Yes, he saw the man he thought was Nightingale, but in the back of his mind, he was also thinking about Q. As he sat in the brambles, he wasn’t too sure which was the more important reason for him to be here.

Bond was not a fool. He couldn’t come right out and accuse the cousin of someone as powerful as Lord Mycroft Holmes of being a spy. He need to get evidence against the man before he could even convince his superiors to investigate Trevor. Bond need to prove Trevor was there in General Jäger salon. He leaned back against the tree and wondered how he could do that.

He also kept his eyes fixed on Q’s bedroom, as he waited patiently, hoping to see the young man come to the window. He laughed softly to himself. Who would imagine a lothario and womanizer like Bond would be besotted over a boy. Bond closed his eyes for moment and remembered the feeling of Q’s body close to his. He could still lightly smell young man’s scent on his skin. The blonde found it provoking. His groin twitched with need and his mouth watered. He had told Q he was going to take the young man away and if James could, he would do it tonight.

He waited in the woods, till after the sun had set and the cold November night was stealing the heat from his body. He saw the lights come on in one of the grand reception rooms. The guests were entering in their finest clothing. He saw John Watson and Anderson in their red Mess Dress uniforms. Watson looking completely uncomfortable under the stiff collar. The footmen held trays with crystal glasses. The guest helped themselves to the drinks.

This was James’ chance. He slowly worked his way across the lawn and to the library window. Vauxhall was a country manor. There would be no guards or search lights. No guns or dogs, but still his heart raced as he ran hunched over across the winter grass. He reached the wall and climbed up to the ledge of the windows. With his pocket knife, he quickly flipped the lock on the sash. He raised the window and climbed into the dark library.

It didn’t take him eight minutes to find the latch for the secret panel this time. He opened the passageway and went inside. He would find his way in the dark; because he knew after dinner, Q would return to his room and find James waiting for him.

~Q~

John Watson stood in the corner of the reception room beside Sherlock Holmes. The taller man dressed handsomely in his black diner jacket and starched white shirt. John fidgeted in his dress uniform as he watched the other guest join them. Mycroft glared at them from across the room.

“That is our cousin, Violet Hunter.” Sherlock said as the young woman entered. His knuckles brushed against the back of John’s hand. The soldier glanced down at the gentle touch then back up at the woman.

She wore a dark blue dress with a high collar. The previous year’s fashion. Her only jewelry was her gold wedding ring plainly visible on his pale hand. Her dark auburn hair was pinned back into a conservative bun, but the blue dress accentuated the flame of her hair.

“Attractive woman.” John mentioned as he cleared his throat.

“Is she? I never noticed.” Sherlock seemed not to notice John’s sudden anxiety.

“Married?” John asked noticing the wedding band.

“No, widowed. Almost two years. Foreigner, but had an English name.”

“Odd.” John noted. He shifted his stance as he watched the woman take an aperitif. “What did you mean the person responsible for your betrayal will be here tonight?” John asked as he tugged again on the collar of his jacket. He was getting warm standing so close to Sherlock. He let his vision slip sideways to take a quick look at the handsome aristocrat.

“I told you I was sent overseas by Mycroft to infiltrate the terrorist organization responsible for shooting the Archduke. Within weeks of arriving, I realized my reports back to Mycroft were being intercepted. Someone who knew me, who had access to Mycroft, discovered what I was doing. I had to disappear when I discovered my cover had been revealed to the Black Hand. For the next twelve months I traveled across Eastern Europe, tracking down information for Mycroft, but I could never sign my name to it for fear the traitor would pick up my trail again. Then in Zalgreb, I made a mistake. I was in a crowd watching a parade of soldiers and tanks before generals and distinguished guests. Someone recognized me. I was arrested before the parade was over. The men torturing me called the person the ‘English’. Later, I learned the person’s code name was ‘Nightingale’.” He accentuated the last word. John turned to look directly at Sherlock. “Apparently, this person has been working with the Germans. Supplying them with information from several different sources. They have access to secure information and can move without hindrance through Whitehall.”

“Okay, I understand that, but . . . wouldn’t we be better off searching at Whitehall and not your mother’s dinner party?” John whispered back at Sherlock.

“Whoever is responsible for betraying me has been spying for Germany too. They have access to powerful individuals within Whitehall but still remain innocuous to travel across Europe without drawing attention to themselves. Given those requirements, it is only reasonable that I start with my family members.”

“You actually think someone in your family was willing to turn you over to the Serbians to be tortured.” John sounded aghast.

“Why not . . . I would.”

Irene Adler came into the room. John felt the air sucked out of his lungs. Irene was wearing a cream colored dress of the sheerest silk, embellished with seed pearls. The plunging neck line exposed vast quantities of her pale skin across her shoulders and upper chest. At first glance it almost appeared as if she were naked. A string of pearls with a large diamond pendant nestled into her décolletage.

She moved with cat like grace across the room and directly towards the two men.

“Sherlock, stunning as ever.” She purred at the taller man.

“Irene, obvious as ever.”

“I thought I would let you envision something new and foreign to you. The woman’s form.”

“I don’t need you to instruct me on imagining a woman’s naked body. Maybe Doctor Watson would be interested in your efforts.”

The woman glanced over at the soldier. John could feel the woman’s green eyes moving up and down his body. He strained but kept his glances above her neckline as a sharp stab of lust twisted his stomach.

“I don’t believe he would have any trouble imagining me naked.” She laughed softly, “But you though . . . Do you even know where to look?”

“Irene, you are always transparent to me.” But Sherlock’s voice has lost a little of its bite as he noticed the soldier’s response to Adler’s flirtations.

“Am I? How wonderful.” She leaned up on her toes and kissed his cheek. Leaving behind a smear of bright red lip ruse. She moved away and took a sherry glass offered to her by one of the servants.

“She’s the one.” John said in the whisper. “She would betray you.”

Sherlock laughed softly.

“Yes, Irene would indeed enjoy seeing me tied up and beaten, but . . . she would prefer to be holding the whip herself.” Sherlock winked at John stunned expression. “She was the mistress of a Russian count. She has access to most of the royal courts across Europe, she is too obvious. She has learned to keep her secrets to herself . . . insurance.”

“She’s a blackmailer?” John asked softly.

Sherlock smiled. “You learn quickly, John. I am impressed. There is hope for you.”

John rolled his eyes. Victor Trevor entered the room and marched straight to the footman holding the drinks tray.

“And what about him?” John nodded to the man.

“Victor Trevor, Violet’s half-brother. He was kicked out of Key’s College. Something about the daughter of one of his instructors. His parents, his and Violet’s parents, died in an automobile crash the following summer. Brake failure. Beneficial for Victor. He inherited thirty thousand pounds which by now I believe he has more than likely spent. Commonly seen in the presents of older women.”

John instantly disliked the young man. “He’s the one.”

Sherlock hummed. “Well, maybe, one of the people in this room could most definitely could be the one.”

The butler entered the room and rang a small bell.

“Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is now served.” He bowed deeply.

John sighed again and pulled at his collar.

“Come along John. This should be fun.”


	14. Endings and Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets bad news and Q gets good news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the wonderful comments and encouragement. Bad few days at work have slowed me down on the writing but I do appreciate your support. Also, more smut.

Endings and Beginnings

John found the dinner tedious. He hardly understood half the conversations and he kept feeling like he was missing out on the other half. Anderson of course made a fool of himself commenting on the cold potato and leek soup. Lady M glared at the man, her bright blue eyes flashing at him.

“It is vichyssoise, Major Anderson. It is preferable to be served cold.”

John ducked his head as he heard Sherlock giggling softly beside him. John found as the meal progressed, Sherlock became more and more tactile. It started with a gentle brush across the back of his hand by Sherlock’s knuckles. Then a brief moment where Sherlock grasped John wrist as he looked directly at him to talk. When Victor tried to question John about his family, Sherlock placed his hand on John’s thigh under the table. John forced himself to remain still as Victor made some insensitive comment about the John’s carelessness to lose both of his parents.

“The ability to quote Oscar Wilde doesn’t bestow you with the author’s wit.” Sherlock kept his hand resting on John’s thigh as he berated Victor. John couldn’t wait for the evening to be over.

As John slow walked down the halls to his room he shared with the orderlies, he felt uncomfortable. He couldn’t tell if it was the sensation he had missed something at the dinner or the meal itself was sitting uncomfortably in his stomach. He was surprised as Victor came out of one of the rooms and intercepted the good doctor.

“Watson, what a common name.” Victor said in a superior attitude.

“I’m not sure how you can say that. There was Dr. Watson who was Alexandra Graham Bell’s assistant and of course puritan and nonconformist, Thomas Watson.”

John looked up at the taller man. Trevor was trying to use his height to intimidate the doctor. John was accustom to people trying to do that. He had to deal with it often in the army. The blonde just relaxed and held Trevor’s gaze with mild indifference.

“Puritan?” Trevor laughed. “Distant relatives?”

“No idea. Doubt it. . . . Is there something you wanted, Mister Trevor?”

“I just wanted to get a closer look at Sherlock’s little terrier.”

“I have no idea what you mean by that, sir.” John subtly widened his stance as his hands began to form fists.

“Oh, it is so obvious that our little Sherlock is quite smitten by you, doctor. What is it he sees? Are you so very good at stroking his ego . . . or are you stroking something else?”

John’s eyes narrowed as he wrinkled his brow. He so desperately wanted to punch the man. He briefly wondered how Lord Holmes would feel if he broke the Trevor’s nose.

“Victor, are you lost again? Your room is in the other direction.” Sherlock’s deep voice was loud as it came down the hall.

Both men turned and looked at the approaching man. Sherlock’s eyes were fixed on Victor. A hint of wariness along with distain in the blue silver orbs. Sherlock held his shoulders back and square as it approaching a lectern.

John was struck by the similarities and difference between the two men. Both men were of equal height, both with dark hair; but where Sherlock had unruly curls that moved and shifted as Sherlock turned his head, Victor’s hair was combed back and held in place by expensive tonic. His hair reflected the light like patent leather. John wondered what his true hair color was, because the tonic was making it darker than normal. They both had narrow faces with prominent cheek bones, but Sherlock’s face was longer. Trevor had his eyes set closer together, and they were a watery clear blue and not the breathtaking silvery green blue of Sherlock’s.

“Sherlock, no reason to get jealous. I’m not interested in your new pet.”

“I am not a pet.” John snapped.

“Oh, this one is intelligent enough to know he is yours.” Trevor said with contempt.

Before John could argue with the man, Sherlock interrupted again.

“Victor, you are boring in your predictability. Scurry off like a good little rat and let the humans alone.”

Trevor’s eyes narrowed and for a moment John feared the man would punch Sherlock.

“Don’t think for a moment I don’t know who and what you are. I remember what you like. And your brother won’t always be there to save you, Sherlock. He won’t rescue you when the time comes for you.”

“I will be sure to inform him of our immediate downfall. Now, your presence is no longer required. GO AWAY.”

John felt the animosity pour off Sherlock. Even though it wasn’t directed at him, John took a step back. Trevor looked as if he had been slapped. He was rocked back off his heels. Trevor ran his palm down the front of the black dinner jacket and tried to square his shoulders. He took a shaky step around Sherlock and walked down the hall.

“The time is coming, Sherlock. The time is coming.”

Sherlock didn’t turn around to watch the man leave, but he waited till he was sure the man was out of hearing distance. He turned to John and stepped closer to the man.

“Are you alright?”

“What?” John felt like he been in a brawl without ever throwing a punch.

“Are you alright? Did he say something to you?”

“He called me your pet? Why would he . . .”

“He thinks he can use you against me.” Sherlock took a step back having assured himself of John’s safety.

“But he can’t.” John said taking a step towards Sherlock, closing the space between them again.

“John . . . no . . . I believe he thinks we are more than friends. He is . . . jealous.”

“Jealous? Of me?” John finally realized the implications. He stepped back out of Sherlock’s space. The taller man frowned and turned away. Sherlock started walked down the hall again.

“I am sorry, John, but you were caught between Victor’s ego and myself. He is an . . . unpleasant individual.”

John follow Sherlock. He walked passed his bedroom door.

“Sherlock, please tell me what is going on.” John reached out and took Sherlock’s elbow. “Was Victor Trevor the one who betrayed you?”

Sherlock turned and looked down at the doctor. “He did once, but I don’t know if he was the one in Zalgreb who betrayed me.”

“Once? When?”

“Eton. We were at school together. In our last year we became . . . close. We spent much time together.” Sherlock paused to see if John was going to react to his story. The doctor’s face remained open and calm. “Our friendship began to evolve into a more personal relationship . . . physical.”

John’s eyes softened and his face seemed to become sad looking. Sherlock wondered for a moment if he was miss reading the doctor’s open expressions.

“The two of you became lovers?” John whispered.

“Yes, to a point. It only lasted a few weeks. Then one day, he requested money. I gladly gave him what he asked for. A week later he asked for more. I had already given him all I had available to me but he didn’t believe me. He threatened me with exposure. He said he would go to the headmaster and tell him what we had been doing. I was . . . devastated . . . I told him, if he exposed me, he, himself would be exposed and would be going to jail also. That seemed to frighten him into silence. He left Eton before the next session and I never saw him again until he was ejected from Key’s. He demanded more money. I told him no one would believe him. He was the disgraced son of a minor peer where I was the son of a Lord. He hated me.”

“I’m sorry, Sherlock.” John wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s clinched fist. “I’m sorry that you were hurt.”

“You’re not . . . disgusted with me?”

“No, why should I?” John asked, his face soft and his eyes wide.

“Because, I . . . Victor and I . . .”

“I’ve been in the army for several years, Sherlock. Before that, medical school. I understand. I’ve had other friends who . . . who preferred the company of men. It’s alright. Everything is alright.” John smiled at Sherlock. “I just don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand? The mechanics?”

“No, no, not that. I don’t understand how someone so remarkable like you ended up with someone so common like Victor.”

Sherlock felt a sudden lump in his throat. John had called him ‘remarkable’.

“He really was an unfortunate choice. I will do better next time.” Sherlock sighed.

John gave Sherlock a lopsided smile. “Next time.”

~Q~

Q hated family dinners. They always had far too many layers of conversation going on. There was the overt conversation between two people. The direct tête-à-tête, but then under that, there was the second dialog. The subtle discussion of push and pull between the two and anyone else listening in the conversation. It was exhausting listening to the various levels while all he wanted was to be talking to James.

Q climbed the stairs to his bedroom. Meyers, his valet, was waiting for him as he opened the door. The servant wished him a good evening and tried to ask about the dinner. Q couldn’t even be polite and answer the man. He struggled to remove his clothes. Simply wanting to crawl into his bed and hope some scent of James still remained there. The sheets had been changed and he was sure some avaricious maid had told Mycroft about their condition, in hopes of a monetary reward for spying on the young man. But he hoped, deeper, with in the mattress or the pillows, the warm slightly spicy scent of James remained. Something to help him sleep tonight.

He still was sore from the previous night, but he cherished the feeling. It was a something real that Q could use to remember the man. Q brushed his hand over the bruise left on his shoulder by James’ teeth. Meyers had not noticed the mark or had remained quiet about it. The mark still stung lightly at the touch. Q remembered the sensation of James rutting against him. The power Q seemed to hold over the stronger man. It made the young man shiver.

“Is that all, sir?” Meyers asked as he slipped Q’s robe over the man’s shoulders.

Q sagged as he was pulled from his memories. “Yes, Meyer. I will be staying in my rooms tomorrow. Please just bring me a tray in the morning.”

“Yes, sir. A full breakfast?”

“No thank you, just tea and some toast.”

Meyers nodded and moved to turn the bed down. Q sat down on the edge of the bed. His shoulders slumped forward.

“Sir, is there something I could do for you?”

Q looked up and saw the concern in Meyer’s eyes. The man was older than Q. Probably by twenty years. He suddenly felt more like a caring uncle than Q’s valet.

“No, Meyers. I’m just . . . I miss Captain Bond.”

Q could see Meyers frown. “Yes, sir. The two of you seemed to be very good friends. I’m sorry he had to leave. But maybe . . . after the war is over . . . maybe you can meet again.”

“I certainly hope so. Thank you, Meyers.” The valet removed the discarded clothing, turning off all the lights, except the one on Q’s night stand.

Q picked up the book on the nightstand and looked at the spine for a moment. It was Kitchener’s biography. It was one of the books he had gotten for James. Q sighed and set the book down. He took off his robe and extinguished the light. He laid down and pulled the covers up over his body, hoping he would quickly be asleep to dream. To dream of James.

He shuffled under the covers when he heard a click. Q sat up for moment. The room was dark. The new moon didn’t afford any light through the windows. Q waited but didn’t hear anything else. He laid back down, pulling the covers up.

He let his mind move back to James. The previous night and what they had done. He remembered the lectures he had heard in school. The vicar and his preaching against homosexuality. Q knew he was good person. He knew he would never harm another soul. Even though he had tried to enlist, he honestly didn’t believe he could take another human beings life. Surely there were worse sins than loving another man.

Q wondered how long until James would return. It was ridiculous but he missed the man so much already. He missed his laugh and his voice. His smug attitude and sexy smile. Q pulled one of his pillows close and wrapped his body around it. His soft muffled whine cover up the sound of shifting fabric.

“James, please . . . I need you to come back to me.” Q whispered into the darkness.

He felt the covers lift and then mattress shift as someone climbed into the bed with him. Q gasped and rolled over. He opened his mouth to yell when a hand covered it.

“Your wish is my command.” James said softly. He pulled his hand back and kissed the stunned young man.

Q pulled back away from the man. His eyes wide in excitement. He gasped then pushed up against the naked man, kissing him over and over again. Q held James’ face as they kissed and nuzzled against each other. James’ hands wandered over the young man’s body.

“James . . . you’re here! . . . Please . . . please . . . I want . . . You’re here! . . . Thank you! . . . I love you!”

James laughed softly at the younger man’s ramblings. His hands moved up and dragged through Q’s curls.

“I missed you too.” James said between kisses.

The two men spent moments just breathing in each other’s scents. Holding and touching. Soft warm kisses that went on for an eternity. It took Q quite an embarrassing long time to realize that James’ deft hands had removed the young man’s shirt and was gently pulling on the ties of his pajama bottoms. When the flare of passion became too great between them, they would rest their foreheads against each other, till they regained control.

Finally, Q took James’ wrist and guided the man’s hand down to the crease of his backside. James’ warm fingers caressed the skin there then slipped down and pressed at Q’s opening. Q tensed and hissed.

“Did I hurt you?” James pulled back, concern filled his eyes.

“I’m sorry. Don’t stop . . . I’m just sore from last night. . . . It will be okay. Please, I want you.”

James kissed the tip of Q’s nose and pulled his hand up Q’s body, pulling the young man close again.

“No.” Q whimpered. James kissed his forehead. “I told you before . . . there are several ways. Do you trust me?”

Q closed his eyes and shook his head. He looked so incredible vulnerable to the older man.

“Wait here. I’ll be right back.” James slipped out of the bed and retrieved the oil from the bathroom. Slipping back under the covers, he said. “Roll over, onto your side . . . away from me.”

Q hesitated but did as James asked. James warmed a small amount of oil in hand before he lovingly smeared it down between the crease of Q’s backside and then inside the young man’s thighs. James wiped his hand and eased up behind the young man.

“Keep your thighs tight together.” James whispered into Q’s ear, before he pushed his hard cock between Q’s creamy pale legs.

Q felt the slide of James’ length and the man’s warm body pressed up to his back. He tensed his thighs as James began a slow stroke. The head of the gland insistent nudges into Q’s bollocks on every push. James wrapped one arm around the boy’s body, pinning Q’s arms down, while holding him tight to James’ chest. His free hand glided over Q’s swollen penis.

“When I get you to Scotland, I’m going have you every night. I will touch you and taste you whenever I want.” James whispered into Q’s ear.

The young man moaned and tried to rock his hips up into James’ hand. He needed more pressure, more stimulation to reach completion. James’ laughed darkly, as he bit down on the soft skin just under Q’s ear.

“No, slow down . . . cherish the sensation.”

Q whimpered again. The feel of James sliding between his legs and pleasurable tormenting of his balls by James’ prick. The teasing touch of James’ hand on his own, it was all driving Q to an unbearable need.

“James . . . please!” Q whispered.

“Keep your thighs tight.” James’ thumb rubbed over the slit of Q’s cock. “There just like that. It’s torturous . . . that want . . . that burn for more.”

“Please, James . . . I can’t . . . I need more!”

“Relax . . . not yet . . . feel me taking over your body . . . you are mine . . .”

Q had to convince James to relent and give him what he needed. He started to alternate flexing his thigh muscles. Left then right. James groaned as he felt the muscle start to massage his prick.

“Fuck, Q . . . what you do to me!” James groaned as he open mouthed kissed across Q’s shoulders.

“You’re the evil bastard torturing me!” Q said as his hips started circling as well as thrusting forward.

James tightened his grip on Q’s penis as he sped up thrust. The moment Q felt the warm release spray over his balls, he came hard. His body curling in on itself and he turned his head and yelled into the pillow. James held the boy tight as Q shivered and shook through the orgasm. Soft butterfly kisses to heated skin and indulgent whispers into Q’s ears.

“You are so beautiful like this . . . I can never leave you . . . I want you . . . I love you.”

James released his hold on Q, but the young man quickly grabbed hold of James’ arm and wouldn’t let it leave him. With a free hand, he reached around behind himself and pulled James closer.

“Together . . . we’ll always be together . . .”

“As often as I can . . .”

Q sighed and closed his eyes. This is was worth everything to him.

~Q~

John had said good night to Sherlock in the hallway before he had entered his bedroom. John stepped over to his bed and started to unbutton the tight collar of the dress uniform, when he saw the letter sitting on his pillow. The plain white envelope with the insignia of the Minister of War. John sat down on the edge of the bed and with shaky hands, opened the letter.

 

_Captain John H. Watson._

_This letter is to inform you your services to King and country are no longer required. You are to be discharge with honor from the Royal Army Medical Corp effective immediately._

 

John looked at the other papers inside the letter. All he need to do was sign the discharge orders and have Anderson initial them, then he would retired. He would no longer be in the army. His career would be over.

John rested his elbows on his knees as he dropped his head between his shoulders. Who would want him now? An injured doctor with a tremor . . . soldier without a war. John knew he was alone with no place to go.


	15. Morning Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor is found out. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry LadyChef, I can't write just angst, I always head off into conflict and mystery. I hope you all enjoy the turn the story is about to take.

Morning Discovery

Sherlock stepped into the family dining room just after six in the morning. He had been awake all night thinking about what John had said to him. John hadn’t been disgusted by Sherlock’s mistake. He hadn’t turned away from the man, hating him for his affair with Victor. John had said “Next time.”

A quick hopeful smile came and went from the man’s lips as he poured himself a cup of coffee and grabbed a piece of toast from the service.

“It appears the great Sherlock Holmes is the cat that ate the canary.” Irene Alder’s voice was remarkably dark and sultry for so early in the day. Sherlock wondered if it every really did change pitch. “What secrets could you have?”

“We all have secrets, Irene. At least, intelligent people have secrets.” He took a sip of his coffee.

“And you of course are very intelligent.”

He cocked his head to the side in agreement. Sitting down at an open place setting, Sherlock shook open his newspaper and started to scan the articles.

“And are you willing to share your secrets with me?” Irene purred from the opposite side of the table.

“Then they wouldn’t be secrets.”

She laughed softly. “I sincerely doubt you could actually keep anything secret from me, Sherlock. I know your charming little doctor is an open book.”

Sherlock looked over the edge of the newspaper at her. She smiled as his blue green eyes stared at her.

“Irene, John Watson is an honest good man, he is not one of your royal buffoons whom you enjoy leading around by their . . . codpieces.”

“How vulgar, Sherlock. But yes, men are so easily manipulated. I think I might enjoy spending time with Doctor Watson and see how he enjoys being . . . leashed.”

Sherlock slammed the newspaper down hard. The china rattled across the table.

“Oh, good morning.” Eve Moneypenny said as she came into the room. She paused and watched Sherlock glare at Irene who sat calming smiling back at him. “Lord Mycroft said I was eat breakfast in here with the family.”

“Yes, dear sit down.” Irene said never removing her green eyes from Sherlock. “Mister Holmes and I were discussing the training and care of pets.”

Eve prepared herself a plate and sat down beside Sherlock. Shaking her linen napkin out, Eve laid it in her lap. Sherlock ignored the woman and returned to his paper.

“Doctor Watson was a very interesting man to speak too. I enjoyed his stories about travelling overseas. But you Miss Alder, already know so much about traveling.” Eve said as she gently stirred her coffee.

Irene’s attention shifted quickly to the woman. “I’ve been fortunate to travel. Not burden with having an occupation to maintain myself.”

“Yes, but it must get so tiring never be able to stay anywhere long. Always having to leave.” Eve smiled coldly at the woman.

“It’s not as if I had to leave . . .”

“Oh, isn’t it . . . Well maybe you can be more affable and be able to stay till the weekend.”

“I have never been spoken to, like that before!” Irene hissed.

“Oh, Miss Adler, my apologies. I was just referring to your last visit to London and Lord Hopkins. He is such a pleasant older man with an absent wife . . . I presume you were unable to stay at his townhouse in the city because his wife was still visiting New York.”

“She has returned.”    

“And you are in the country visiting yet another house full of men.”

“Yet, another. . . . I feel the need to prepare myself for the day. Will you please excuse me?” Irene forced herself to maintain an air of composure. She had no idea who this Eve Moneypenny was but she was going to not let the woman get the upper hand again. Irene carefully folded her napkin and set it beside her place setting. She rose and smiled to the woman.

“Sherlock, later we should talk. When we are not interrupted by the paid help.”

Sherlock didn’t look up from his newspaper as Irene waited for a response. She glared at him then turned and left. As soon as the door closed to the room, Sherlock broke out in laughter.

“Well, done Miss Moneypenny. Well, done.”

Eve just smiled.

The woman’s screamed cut through the walls. Sherlock and Eve jumped to their feet.

“You should stay here, Miss Moneypenny.”

The woman glanced at him once with her large chocolate brown eyes, then rushed to the door. Beating Sherlock out of the room.

~Q~

Bond was awake at least an hour before sunrise. He laid in the bed next to the sleeping man, just watching Q. The man looked incredibly young. His mouth was soft with its dark red lips. Q’s expression was relaxed, his pale skin smooth over sharp cheek bones. James let his fingertips lightly trace over Q’s eyebrows and down the edges of the face. Q hummed and moved closer, burying his face into James’ chest.

As the sun rose and the bedroom began to fill with light, James kissed Q awake.

“I need to go.”

“What? . . . Aren’t you going to take me with you?” Q asked, hating the fact he sounded like he was a child.

“I have to finish my mission, Q.”

The young man nodded.

“Afterwards, you’ll come for me.”

“Yes, I promise, but . . . but I need to ask you some questions first.”

“Okay.”

“Tell me about your cousin, Victor Trevor.”

“Victor?” Q cocked his head to the side. “He’s just . . . just my cousin. His father is dead, both his parents are dead. Violet is his half-sister, but they don’t get on very well. He’s . . . he spends a lot of time gambling. I believe he’s made friends were several older woman . . . he keeps them company . . . he ah . . .”

“It’s okay, I understand. Does he travel much?”

“Yes, he is hardly in England. He spends a lot of time in Spain and Sweden.”

“What about Germany?”

“Why would he go there?”

“Does he?”

“I know he used to visit Violet and her husband in Austria and Switzerland before the war . . . before Violet’s husband died, but not now. They had some kind of fight.”

James kissed Q once then tossed the covers back. He stood up and walked naked across the room.

“I need to get back in the passageway before Meyers shows up with your breakfast.” James grabbed his pants and trousers, slipping them on.

“Are you going away again?”

“No Q, I’m going to be here for a while, but . . . I have bad news for you . . . I need you to promise me that you won’t tell anyone.”

Q knitted his brow. “James, I trust you . . . I won’t tell anyone.”

“I was in Berlin just before I was injured. I was stealing secrets from a German general. While I was there in his house, I saw an Englishman. The general called him ‘Nightingale’.” James pushed his arms through the sleeves of his shirt.

“You were a spy? You saw another spy?” Q tried to not sound anxious.

“Yes . . . it was your cousin . . . Victor Trevor.”

“What!? . . . NO! . . . You’re mistaken!”

“No, Q . . . I saw him quite clearly. He was talking to the general. There was a woman there with them.”

The sound of a woman screaming stopped them from saying anything more. Q jumped out of the bed and grabbed his clothes. James went to the bedroom door to open it.

“No, James! The hidden passageway, please . . . before Mycroft sees you.”

James nodded and went to the bookcase. He pulled it open and stepped inside the dark hallway. The screams seemed to be louder.

~Q~

John was woken up by the rapid knocking on his bedroom door. He rolled over and set his feet on the floor.

“Come.” He shouted.

“John, it’s Molly!” He heard the squeak of the woman’s frightened voice.

John rubbed his hand down his face, “Molly?” He stood up and pulled his wool robe on. He tied the sash just before he opened the door. “Molly, what is it?”

Molly was red face with wide frightened eyes. “Sherlock . . . I mean Master Sherlock wants you.”

“What’s happened!?” He set his hand on her forearm to try and calm her down.

“There’s a . . . there’s a body. A dead man!”

“In one of the wards?” John asked thinking it was a dead soldier.

“No, in the library. It’s Mister Trevor. Sherlock says it’s murder!”

~Q~

Sherlock was moving around the dead body. Scouring with his eyes over every inch of the Victor Trevor. John rushed into the room. Q was standing beside Mycroft as Sherlock got down on his hands and knees and bowed over the body. He sniffed at Victor’s mouth, then picked up the dead man’s hand to examine it.

“Sherlock, I don’t think you should touch the body until the police arrive.” John said in a warning tone.

“If I wait for them, any evidence that I can glean from the body will be destroyed by the idiots. John take a look.”

“What!?” John choked on the single word.

“Give me your professional opinion, doctor.” Sherlock stood up and started to walk slowly around the room while he studied the carpet.

“Opinion? Oh . . .” John stepped closer and looked down at Victor Trevor’s body.

The dead man was dressed in his black trousers and the white shirt from the previous night. The carpet around the body was soaked with dark red blood.

“Substantial blood loss, probably a knife wound, or penetrating wound not gun shot.”

“Why?” Sherlock asked as he paused near the window studying the carpet there.

“I don’t smell any cordite. Also, there is no exit wound. If he was shot this amount of blood would mean a larger caliber. Larger caliber, exit wound. No exit wound, smaller caliber. Too much blood.”

“Exactly. Very good.” Sherlock stared down at the rug and walked from the window to the bookcase with the bust of Shakespeare.

Quincy took as step forward. “Sherlock, no!”

Sherlock pushed the latch and door swung open. James Bond was standing in the narrow passageway in the dark.

“BOND! WHAT THE DEVIL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!” Mycroft shouted.

“MYCROFT! DON’T YOU HARM HIM!” Quincy rushed across the room and stood between his brother and his lover.

James set his hand on Q’s shoulder and walked around the younger man. “Mycroft won’t be harming anyone Q. And Lord Holmes, I am here to protect Q . . . from anyone who plans to harm him . . . Anyone.” The coldness to James’ voice had everyone looking at him.

“Did you do this?” Mycroft pointed at Victor Trevor’s dead body.

“No, I wanted him alive.” Bond said as he moved to stand in front of Q.

“Why?”

“I am unable to explain to you why. I do need to have Mallory come here and take his body away.”

“What, that is highly unusual.” Mycroft glared at the agent. “I won’t permit it.”

Sherlock crossed his arms and sighed.

“Mycroft, you are being obtuse. John get up and close the door, before we are over heard by the servants.” John quickly did as Sherlock ordered.

Mycroft glared at the other men in the room.

“I will not be insulted in my own home.”

“It is our mother’s home and I sincerely doubt she will be pleased to learn that our cousin is suspected of being a spy.” Sherlock said as he walked back over to look down at the dead man.

“Oh, of course. The reason for your assignation with my brother. To obtain access to the family.” Mycroft said.

“You are of course wrong again, Mycroft” Sherlock said.

“I didn’t know who the man was I had seen with General Jäger. I was injured returning to British lines after I had seen a spy in Berlin. I woke up here without any knowledge of where I was. Of whose house I was in. I didn’t know about your connection to ‘Nightingale’ until I saw Trevor yesterday.” Bond said as he turned to look Q in the eyes. “I never came here to harm anyone in this family.”

Sherlock took a step forward. “Did you say Nightingale?”

“Yes, that is what the general said.” Bond turned to look at the other brother.

“Sherlock . . .” John stepped over and set his hand on Sherlock’s back. “Sherlock that was the name of the person who betrayed you. Nightingale.”

John could feel Sherlock trembling under is touch. He took a step closer. He wanted to wrap his arms around the man but didn’t dare. The other men in the room said nothing. The implications that Victor had been responsible for Sherlock’s suffering and torture was choking the men.

Mycroft cleared his throat. “Constable Barrowman will be here in the next hour. I will have Parker go and notify the territorial police force to send a Chief Inspector down. Preferably one with experience from Scotland Yard.”

John couldn’t stand to see Sherlock so shaken by the news his cousin had betrayed him. John slipped his arm around Sherlock’s waist and pulled the man to his side. The taller man slipped into the doctor’s embrace. Sherlock tipped his head down and buried his face into John’s neck. John’s arms wrapping around Sherlock’s body and holding him tight. Quincy stepped forward but James held him back. Letting John and Sherlock have a moment of silence together.

“Lord Holmes, you are right. We should wait till the proper authorities arrive. I have already notified MI6. I am expecting someone to arrive today. My suspicion about the man can not go beyond this room.”

John looked up for Sherlock’s shoulder. “But the man was murdered. We need to find the killer.”

“And we will, John.” Sherlock said as he stood up straight. “You and I.”

“No, Sherlock . . . this has become a national security issue.” Mycroft said. Bond looked over at the man. “Yes, Mister Bond. If Victor Trevor really was this ‘Nightingale’ then the implications are he has had access to me. The sooner we learn the identity of the murder, the sooner we learn the degree of betrayal here in Vauxhall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the wonderful comments and kudos. It is icing on the cake knowing you are enjoying the stories.


	16. Detective Inspector Lestrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The investigation begins in Victor's death and Lestrade meets the Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out. RL has intruded on me hard. The next several chapters will be slow because of it. Hope you will forgive me.

Detective Inspector Lestrade

Molly came into the morning room, carrying a tray with a tea service. The silver tray looked enormous in her small hands. The detective inspector rushed to his feet to help the young woman set the tray down.

“Oh, thank you sir, you didn’t have to bother yourself.”

“No, bother . . . can’t have the tea crashing to the ground.” He smiled at the pretty woman. His hazel eyes flashed at her and Molly blushed deeply.

“Thank you, sir.” She quickly curtsied and rushed out of the room.

James sat on the opposite side of the table from the detective, Gregory Lestrade. Bond had tried to determine the man’s age. His salt and pepper hair was cut in a military style; but his face didn’t have the wrinkles of old age. Instead he had a good natured expression. His eyes were large and soft but had sad looking expression of a man who had seen too many awful things in his life. The dichotomy of the man was intriguing to Bond. Grey hair but young face. Sad eyes but happy nature.

“Alright, Mister Bond, you said you were visiting Mister Quincy Holmes and did not know the victim.” Lestrade repeated James’ statement from earlier in the interview.

“No, I never spoke to the man personally.” James said.

“But you were found in the passageway leading to the library from Mister Quincy’s bedroom.”

“When we heard the scream, I went that way to make sure no one was trying to escape.”

Lestrade nodded his head making a note in his book.

“You went that way although not knowing what the problem was. I mean, no one but the maid knew about Mister Trevor. That he was dead on the floor of the library, but you went that way to stop the intruder.” Lestrade looked up at James’ emotionless mask. “I thought it was strange that none of the staff knew you had returned to the house.”

“I caught the train in the morning. At the first stop I disembarked for a smoke. I was lost in thought and the train left without me. Simple mistake. I came back to Vauxhall to spend the night, and I was going to catch the London train this morning.”

“Didn’t wait for the next train at one o’clock?”

“Didn’t know about it. Very unobservant of me.”

Lestrade smiled at the man. It was a suspicious smile. He knew Bond was lying, but couldn’t directly come out and say it.

“Do you recognize this knife?” Lestrade pushed over an ornate silver knife with an intricately designed handle. “Mister Quincy Holmes has already identified it as his.”

“That is the knife that was on his desk. He uses it to build his models.”

“Models he builds from his own designs? . . . Like this one?” Lestrade laid a stiff paper file folder on the table and opened it. Inside was a single sheet of paper that had been folded and unfolded. The paper was speckled with blood but the drawing of a tank was clearly visible.

Bond remain still, he didn’t answer the detective.

“It is clear to me, that Mister Quincy Holmes discovered Victor Trevor had stolen one of his designs and confronted the man with only weapon he had easy access too. He probably didn’t even mean to harm Mister Trevor. It was just an argument that got out of hand.”

“When was Q supposed to have done this? Trevor was seen alive after Q retired for bed.” James said calmly.

“During the night of course.”

“But we were together.” James said before he realized what he was saying. “We were both asleep.”

“But one of you slept in the spare bed . . . the day bed in the dressing room.”

“Yes, but the door was open.” James tried to cover his mistake.

“But he could have left once you fell asleep?”

“No, I’m a light sleeper. If Q had opened a door, it would have woken me.”

Lestrade smile his disbelieving smile again. He flipped the pages of his notebook and reviewed a pervious entry.

“Doctor Anderson said you had a head injury.” James remained still. “He stated you were in coma for over a week.” James still did not say anything. Lestrade stared at the man for a full minute. “I don’t believe you would have woken up if Mister Quincy Holmes got up, got dressed and walked out of the room. I mean, it’s not like the two of you were sharing a bed.”

James face remained unreadable. He stared emotionlessly at the other man across the table from him.

“No . . . it not like we were sharing the same bed.”

James remember holding the young man all night long. Waking in brief moments to rub his hand down Q’s unclothed body and smell the scent of the man’s skin. He couldn’t tell the Detective Inspector that. They would both be arrested for indecency and end up in jail.

“I didn’t think so.” Lestrade shook his head. It was obvious to him, regardless of denies, the two men had been sharing a bed.

~Q~

Q was told to remain in the formal dining room until Detective Inspector Lestrade needed to question him. James had been with the man for almost half an hour. Q fidgeted wondering what was taking so long. Neither Q nor James had seen anything and he was certain James was not going to tell the policeman that Victor was a spy.

Irene came into the room and paused to look at Q. The younger Holmes tried to hold the woman’s stare but failed at the last moment, turning away from her green eyes. She smiled and set a small pout on her face.

“The constable said we were not to speak to one another before we are questioned.” Q said as he looked down at the lace tablecloth.

“I am quite aware what Constable Barrowman said. I’m not here to discuss Victor. I wish to speak to you about you, my darling Quincy.”

Q glanced up quickly then looked back down at his folded hands on the table.

“Quincy, you have grown up to be such an interesting young man.” Irene purred as she moved closer. She stepped behind the young man and dragged her hand up his arm and across his shoulder. Her fingertips grazed across the skin of his neck and lightly cupped his chin. She pinched his chin, holding it before she twisted it and forced the young man to turn and look up at her. “Such an interesting and attractive young man. And a young man with a secret.”

Q blinked and tried to pull out of the woman’s hold. “I . . . I don’t know what you mean.”

“When I was here last, dear Quincy, you were a virgin.” He baulked and yanked his head away. “Yes . . . it was quite obvious. But now . . . you have changed. Again quite obvious. I wonder if I should pin down that very attractive Mister Bond and ask him about it . . . Or would he rather pin you down.”

Q blushed deeply. Irene smiled more. She bent over and dragged her nose across the shell of Q’s ear.

“It is a very dangerous game you are playing, little man. You shouldn’t trust someone like Bond, not when you can trust me . . . with everything.”

Q shivered and tried to move out of the chair but Irene had him trapped.

“I’m not someone you could find interesting, cousin.” Quincy’s voice quavered.

“Oh but you are. You are my miniaturized Sherlock.”

Q twisted to look at the woman. “If you are interested in Sherlock, why don’t you pursue him?”

“Oh I’ve asked him to have dinner with me several time, but he is just like you. Clueless . . . I want more than a substitute Holmes. I want a Holmes of my very own.” She bent over and whispered the last eight words less than inch from his face. Her breathe caressing his skin. “Tell me Quincy, will you have dinner with me?”

“He is busy tonight.” James said from the open door. “In fact, he will be busy every night for the next twenty years.”

Q leaped out of his chair and pushed pass Irene. He smiled as he walked up to James. The blonde returned Q’s smile quickly before returning his attention to Irene.

“Q, I believe Detective Inspector Lestrade is ready to interview you.”

“James?” Q wanted to reach out and touch the man but didn’t dare.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be waiting for you when you are done.” He smiled briefly again and then turned to Irene. “I’ll keep your cousin occupied while you speak to him.”

Q glanced at Irene who was smiling broadly. Neither of the two men smiled back. James patted Q’s forearm and young man left.

“Oh goodie, I get to play with the big boys now.” Irene teased.

“I wouldn’t consider that an honor.” James said as he moved slowly around the room. He was pointedly not looking at her, but he kept her under his observation. “Tell me, how close were you to Victor?”

“Are we playing ‘Cops and Robbers’ now?” Irene purred.

“No, I think more ‘Twenty Questions’.”

“Excellent . . . we were cousins . . . we traveled in the same group of friends.” Irene stepped up closer to the blonde man. “Now, my turn. Do you prefer the company of men or are you willing to share your time?”

“Quincy can attest to the fact I have shared the company of many women.” James smiled. “Have you traveled with Victor together to visit your friends?”

“Occasionally . . . are you able to converse with these women in their own . . . languages?”

“I am fluent in numerous dialects and methods of communication . . . where did you and Victor like to travel the most?”

“Spain is very warm, and southern France . . . so exciting. I never cared for Moscow and now after the trouble with the Bolsheviks, I doubt I will be returning. Austria and the Emperor’s court was entertaining.” She moved so she could brush up against James’ back. The man didn’t turn around to look at her. He twisted his head to the side. “Are you the sharing type?”

“Depends on what I’m asked to share. I can be very possessive of my prize possessions.” He said over his shoulder as he felt her hands sweep across his broad shoulders. “You’ve never traveled to Germany with Victor?”

“Before the war . . . visited Violet and her stuffy family there once . . . Quincy is such a lovely creature, isn’t he?”

“Beyond compare.” James twisted around and leaned in even closer. His body pushing into Irene’s. The woman didn’t submit, she didn’t back away from James’ advances. “Were you Victor’s lover?”

“I have enjoyed the company of various interesting and intelligent individuals. I’m looking forward to spending time with two new ones quite soon . . . Victor was never interesting. He was . . . predictable and boring.”

James’ hands came slowly up the woman’s arms and over her shoulders. He could see the small shiver tremble through her body as he touched the side of her neck. He smirked as he moved his face closer to hers as if to kiss.

“Interesting and intelligent?”

“The new sexy.” She pushed forward to kiss him but James moved back slightly avoiding her advance while still maintaining their closeness. “You’ve broken in Quincy, haven’t you?”

“He is not a pair of gloves.”

“Oh, but he is tight and soft. Warm and very smooth.” Her eyelids fluttered as her voice took on a deeper sultry tone.

James’ mind was not affected. He had dealt with Irene’s types before, although she was very good at the seduction. If Quincy hadn’t been the objective of her desires, James might have been more intrigued by the woman. He tightened his grip and her shoulders and pushed her back.

“That wasn’t a question and you lose.” He straightened his back and stepped away from the slightly swaying woman.

“What?” Irene seemed confused by James’ sudden indifference.

“As I said earlier, Quincy Holmes won’t be available to dine with you for the next twenty years. Good luck fishing elsewhere.”

James walked to the door. He turned once and let his eyes travel up and down the woman body in an appraising glance. He smirked and turned to leave. Irene’s eyes blazed with anger as she swatted a porcelain vase off the sideboard. The ceramic shattering on the wooden floor.

~Q~

Lestrade was in the middle of interviewing Quincy Holmes when the constable came rushing into the room. Lestrade furiously marched down the hall, considering all the cutting things he was going to shout at the man once he pulled him away from the dead body.

Lestrade burst open the door to find Sherlock and John examining the body of Victor.

“What the devil do you think you are doing!?”

“An autopsy.” Sherlock said as he kept his attention on Victor’s hand he was scrutinizing.

“No, we are not!” John shouted at the man. “I told you, I refuse to cut open your dead cousin in your mother’s parlor.”

Lestrade shook his head. He rested his hands on his hips wondering what he had done to invoke the fates to burden him with someone like Sherlock Holmes.

“Mister Holmes, please quit touching the body. You are compromising the evidence.”

Sherlock looked up at the man and sneered. “I believe it was your constables who compromised the evidence. They rested his hands on top of his blood covered chest before I was able to exam them properly.”

“What are you saying?” Lestrade stepped forward and looked down at the body.

“Look, the knuckles are bruised. There are an indication that he was in a fight before he was killed. Also, there were two assailants.”

Lestrade forgot his anger as he started to listen to the man. “How do you know?”

“The bruise over his mouth.”

“What?!”

“I’ll show you,” John said. The doctor stepped forward and near the dead man’s head. He held his hand over the man’s lips without touching them. “See the outline of someone’s hands over his lips.” John lifted his hand away from the dead man’s face, showing Lestrade the slight discoloration of the skin. “Also, the superior labial frenulum is torn.” John lifted the dead man’s lips and showed the damage flesh to the policeman.

“So the killer held him from behind and stabbed him.” Lestrade offered.

“We said two killers . . . if the killer had worked alone and held his hand over Victor’s mouth and used his other to stab the man, then Victor would have two hands free to fight back. He would have grabbed the knife or reached for his assailant. There is no indication he did, or at least none I can detect through the mess of these hands after your constables covered them up with the blood. No, one person held Victor, a man, probably taller than Victor then a second person killed him. Stabbed him from the front.” Sherlock explained.

“Why the front?”

“Angle of wound.” John said. “The person was shorted and stabbed Victor three times. Heart, left lung then liver. The lung would have filled with blood and made breathing difficult. Pericardial sac filled with blood and compressed the heart to stop beating. The stab to the liver was just a precaution. Victor would have been dead in minutes before he could have bled out.”

“Two men?” Lestrade said. “But, Bond and your brother are nearly the same height.”

“Quincy? No not him . . .” Sherlock said and he straightened to stand up. He looked affronted then arrogant. “And who said two men?”

“You don’t think a woman could do this?” Lestrade pointed to the body.

“Why not. It wouldn’t take an inordinate amount of strength once Victor was restrained from behind.”

Lestrade huffed out in disagreement. “Why the devil should I listen to you?!”

Sherlock stood up straight and pulled his shoulders back. “Because I am correct.”

Lestrade narrowed his eyes at the man. “Of course.” He said sarcastically.

“You are younger than your hair proclaims. Probably one of the youngest Detective Inspectors. You were trained in London by Scotland Yard. I can tell by your interrogation tactics. Your wife no longer cares for you and is having an affair. If she hasn’t left you yet, she soon will. You have a careless maid and you own two small dogs.”

Lestrade stepped back like he had been slapped. His mouth fell open as his eyes bulged out.

“Who the bloody hell have you been talking too!”

“No one . . . I observe.” Sherlock said. Lestrade remained stunned. “Your teeth and nails are indicative of a man in his mid to late thirties. Young for an Inspector Detective. As I said before, the phases and direction of questioning you used is used by Scotland Yard detectives. So you trained in London. You, yourself are clean shaven and have recently bathed, so you are fastidious in your habits. But the button on your waist coat is missing and your cuffs are frayed. You have a gold wedding band on your finger. What kind of devoted wife allows her husband to leave the house in such a state of disarray? You touched your wedding band when I spoke of a woman being involved. After one doubt of a woman’s complicity you agreed a woman could have killed Victor. You are bitter towards the ‘fairer sex’. Why? Because the wife you still love, no longer loves you. Why would she no longer be devoted to a loving husband, because she is having an affair. The leather has been cut near the toe when your maid slipped removing the mud but she still left some mud behind on the opposite boot. There is your careless maid. And your trouser leg has the hair of two separate breeds of dog . . . one wire haired terrier and a . . . pug.” Sherlock let his glance move to Lestrade’s trouser leg. He looked back up into the man’s stunned face.

“Bloody hell . . . how . . . who . . .” He snapped his mouth shut and glanced at John. The doctor just smiled back. Lestrade glanced back at Sherlock. “Alright, a man and possibly a woman who is familiar with human anatomy.”

 


	17. Hunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft discovers a thief and John prepares to leave Vauxhall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being patient for this chapter. The next few will be slow to get out. Sorry. I can't thank you all enough for the wonderful comments and encouragements. You are great.

 Hunting

John stood in the foyer of Vauxhall. His suitcase hung loosely in his right hand. He stared at himself in the tall gold gilt framed mirror. The large ornate thing hung on the wall beside the large front doors. It gave the impression the already ridiculously large room was even bigger. The mirror was well over twelve feet tall and his image seemed dwarfed within it. John was wearing is British khaki uniform and his peeked cap. He hadn’t bought any civilian clothing yet. Having been in the army for five years, he hadn’t needed any. John knew that would be the first thing he did once he found a place to stay in Edinburgh.

He looked carefully at the man in the mirror. The small framed, squared shouldered, sad looking man. John sighed. He wondered if he should grow a mustache. He was retired now and a mustache would be appropriate for a retired military officer. It would make him look old.

He straightened his blouse and brushed his fingers over the various ribbons that were pinned to his chest. It was time to go. He tightened his grip on the suitcase. Pausing for a moment to look one more time at the house around him. It would be the last he ever saw of Vauxhall and the people who lived there. The thought seem to make him wretched.

“John, what are you doing?”

John looked over to see Sherlock stepping off the last step of the stairs and onto the marble floor. Every time he saw the man, John could feel his heart begin to race. Sherlock’s eyes moved rapidly between John’s face and the brown leather suitcase then back again.

“Where are you going?”

“Edinburgh.”

“But why?” Sherlock stepped closer.

“I have too. I’ve been discharged. I have to leave.” John tried to remain calm. He hadn’t realized how much he was going to miss the mad man. “I thought I would try to get a job teaching.”

“NO.” Sherlock snapped.

“No to teaching?”

“No to you leaving. You must stay . . . your duty!”

“But Anderson’s okayed the orders and I can’t stay here.”

“Why not?!” Sherlock began to panic.

“Sherlock, I’m no longer in the army. I have to leave and figure out what I do next in my life.”

“But why Edinburgh?”

“I don’t want to go to Edinburgh, but I can’t afford London and I can’t stay here.”

“I hate to repeat myself but . . . why can’t you stay here? The house does not belong to the army. I can choose whomever I want to visit me here for however long I want.”

There was a moment when John’s heart beat double time, then he realized it was foolish to hope for something that just couldn’t be.

“Sherlock, I can’t be a guest at Vauxhall.” John smiled sadly. He would have preferred to stay but he wouldn’t take Sherlock’s charity. John did have some honor.

“Not a guest. My assistant.” Sherlock crossed his arms tipping his head up and back.

“Your what?!” John nearly dropped his suitcase. A pain flared in his chest. John felt as if he was merely a piece of furniture to Sherlock.

“If not assistant . . . then colleague.”

“Colleague? In what?” John could feel anger beginning to take over his emotions.

“The work! Detecting! Didn’t you have fun yesterday?” Sherlock looked affronted.

“Fun? Sherlock, your cousin was murdered yesterday! We were all subjected to questioning by the police yesterday. I had to exam a dead man yesterday. Fun is not the word I would use to describe yesterday.”

“Alright . . . how about exhilarating? You must admit we worked well together.”

“I admit I was amazed by what I watched you do yesterday. Especially all the things you deduced about Lestrage. But it still wasn’t fun.” John was exasperated by the man.

“But is it something you could consider yourself doing routinely?” Sherlock asked hoping.

“I . . . I think I need to make a decision about my future and I shouldn’t do it here.”

The two men stood staring at each other, when the butler quickly walked through the room and to the front door.

“Excuse me, sir.”

He opened it just as the bell rang and Gregory Lestrade entered the house. Lestrade nodded to the two men then looked at the suitcase in John’s hand.

“Are you planning on going somewhere?” Lestrade asked.

“Yes, the train station in the village.” John said ignoring Sherlock’s glares.

“No, I’m afraid you can’t. At least not yet. No one leaves until we find the two people responsible for Victor Trevor’s death.”

“I’ve been discharged. I can’t stay here any longer.”

“Sorry, John, but you are. You are going to have to hold off on your life until we are done here.” Lestrade shrugged his shoulders.

John looked like he was going to put up an argument but he just set the suitcase down and turned to Sherlock.

“Mister Holmes, I am sorry but I am in need of a bed. Would you mind putting me up for a few days?”

“Not at all. I will have Johnson arrange a room for you near mine.”

John nodded and tried not to acknowledge Sherlock’s gloating smile.

~Q~

Mycroft had wasted the whole previous day because of the murder. He had not been able to dictate one single letter or read any of his various reports that were waiting for him. He went into his office early in the morning. He wanted to review the dispatches that come in. He needed to compose responses to them and wanted to verify certain information relayed in them. He stepped into his private office just off his bedroom. The large cherry desk sat in front of the large window. That way, he could face anyone entering the room. His chair stood between the desk and the east facing window. The morning sun was pouring through the window and warming the room.

Mycroft took his seat and reached for his keys from his waistcoat pocket. The reports were in the sealed dispatch box he kept locked in the bottom drawer of his desk. The leather box had a simple brass lock on it; not much to stop a committed robber, but the desk had strong locks on heavy wooden drawers. Mycroft found his key and bent down to unlock the drawer.

The morning sun shone down on the polished brass. The bright spark drew Mycroft’s attention. He paused, then he dragged his finger over the lock. The sharp barb of scratched metal could be felt. Someone had tried to pick the lock. Quickly he opened the drawer and saw the dark brown leather dispatch case. He removed it and set it on the desk. The brass lock was still in place. The wax seal with the mark from his signet ring was still covering the mechanism of the lock. He examined it, and the wax was unbroken. He found the second key, snapped the wax seal and opened the box. The dispatches were inside. All but one.

The air was punched out of Mycroft’s lungs. He collapsed into his chair. The missing dispatch was about further troop deployment to Belgium. Information the Germans would kill for. If he had allowed that information to fall into the enemy’s hands, he would be disgraced. He would lose all his credibility. His power, position. Control.

Mycroft slammed the lid of the dispatch box closed. He was going to have to find out who had been in office without his permission. He would have to find out who the spy was. He stood and walked to the wall. There he pulled the bell cord. Within minutes there was a soft knock on the door.

“Come in.” He called out.

Mycroft’s private valet opened the door and entered the office, leaving the door open.

“Find Master Sherlock and get him here now. Also tell Bond I want to see him immediately.”

The valet bowed and rushed from the room. Before he could close the door, though, Eve Moneypenny stepped into the office.

“Good morning, sir. Are you ready to get started? I have the letters you dictated two days ago ready for you to review before I post them. And I also have the transcription of the Italian missives.”

Mycroft looked the woman over carefully. He had specifically ordered her not to enter his office while he was not there, but had she? Was she the one who had somehow broken into the dispatch box and stolen the valuable report?

He carefully sat down at his desk and subtly opened his desk drawer. He removed a notebook with his left hand setting it down rather firmly on the desk top. Eve’s attention was immediately drawn to the paperback notebook. She missed the man slipping the revolver from the drawer and resting it in his lap.

“I have several letters to dictate today. Are you ready?”

Eve nodded and sat down the chair opposite the man’s desk. She flipped open her stenographer’s pad and looked up expectantly in Mycroft’s face.

“Ready when you are, sir.” Eve smiled.

Mycroft preceded to start reciting letters he never intended to send. He kept his eyes down but he maintain a subtle observation of the woman. Sherlock was the first to step in to the room. He nodded to his brother.

“What do you want? John and I need to find a killer.” Sherlock looked down imperiously at his brother.

James Bond stepped in right behind Sherlock. “Lord Holmes, you requested my presence.”

James glanced at the woman sitting in the chair. A brief glimmer of recognition flashed through his eyes, then he nodded to the woman.

“Excuse me, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” Bond said reaching out to shake Eve’s hand.

“Mister Bond, this is your spy.” Mycroft announced, as he stood and pointed the gun at her.

Eve glanced at the gun then up at Lord Holmes. She smiled broadly and looked over at James.

“Well, I guess my cover has been blown.” Eve said calmly.

Bond stepped forward. “Lord Holmes, you are correct that Eve Moneypenny is a spy, but . . . not the spy I’m looking for.” Bond smiled. “Miss Eve Moneypenny is in the service of King and county. She works for MI6.”

“One of Mallory’s spies?!”

“Yes.” Eve smiled. “Trevelyan reported Bond was recuperating here but had information regarding a spy. I was sent to be his protection in case the man came looking for him.”

Mycroft set the gun down on the desk. He collapsed in the chair. His face ashen.

“What is it Mycroft?” Sherlock had never seen his brother look beaten before.

“A dispatch is missing. I don’t know how it was taken but it is missing from my dispatch case.”

“How important is it?” Bond asked.

“Very. The German army would have the movements of all British troops in Belgium.”

“Did Trevor take it?”

“No, it went missing sometime yesterday. After Trevor was found dead. I haven’t been in my office since the night before he was found.”

“Let me see your dispatch case.” Sherlock said.

Mycroft tapped the leather case on the desk. Sherlock stepped forward and looked at it. He turned it over and looked at the backside of the leather box.

“It was locked in my desk drawer. The lock appears to have been picked. I noticed that this morning. But the lock on the box itself had not been touched. The wax seal was still in place.”

Sherlock knelt down so he could look closer at the box without touching it. He turned the box around so the lock was facing away from him. The dispatch box had a long narrow hinge on the back of it, similar to miniature piano hinge. He dragged his finger down the brass hinge and then rubbed his fingers together.

“I need a thin wire.” Sherlock said.

Eve reached into her hair and remove a thin wavy wire bent in half. “Here, Mister Holmes.” Sherlock took the wire and looked at it confused. “It is called a hairpin . . . not familiar with women’s coiffure.”

“It’s not come up before.” He straightened the pin and used the thin wire to push the pin out of the hinge. Sherlock removed the pin and then lifted the back of the box, separating the brass hinge in to two pieces. “There. It wouldn’t be too difficult.”

“It could have been anyone.” Mycroft said.

“Yes, but whomever it was, they are still here.” Everyone looked at Sherlock. He sighed. “Detective Inspector Lestrade is not allowing anyone to leave until we identify the murderer.”

“So, the dispatch could still be in the house.” Bond looked over at Eve.

“On it, James. I’ll be subtle.” Eve stood up and smiled at the men.

“Miss Moneypenny, please, not as subtle as you were with Irene.” Sherlock said.

“Shame, she was where I was going to start.”

~Q~

Sherlock went searching for John when he heard shouting from the front of the house. He rushed to the front door, just in time to see it kicked opened and three constables dragging in a man in a chauffeur’s uniform. The shouting echoing off the black and white marble floor.

“What is going on?! Barrowman!?” Lestrade shouted as he came up to the men from another direction.

Barrowman, a portly man in his late forties, stood to the side. He quickly removed his hat as the Detective Inspector marched up.

“Sir, this man was trying to leg it. We stopped him but not before he punched Jasper.” Barrowman waved over to one of the officers who had blood running down his face from his nose. The man’s uniform was rumbled and a bruise was beginning to bloom on his cheek.

“LET GO OF ME!” the chauffeur shouted.

“Hitting a police officer is a criminal offence, sir.” Lestrade growled at the struggling man. “We can haul you off to jail right now, if I choose.”

The man quite struggling in the officers’ grip. He glared at Lestrade.

“What are you doing with my driver?” the sharp cutting diction of the young woman silenced all the men.

Lestrade and Sherlock turned to see Violet Hunter walking down the grand staircase toward the group of me.

“Ma’am, is this your chauffeur?” Lestrade asked.

“Yes, Lenard. He was been with my family for years. Unhand him immediately.” Violet raised her chin in defiance to the Detective Inspector.

“I instructed that no one was to leave Vauxhall. Your chauffeur was trying to escape.”

“He most certainly was not. He was posting a letter for me in the village.”

“He was trying to leave.”

“He was not leaving, he was just following my request. A letter to my maiden aunt in York.”

“No one is allowed to leave Vauxhall, until I release the household.”

“Lenard was going to return. You just had to ask him.” Violet snapped at the men.

“We didn’t get the chance. He took off swinging as soon as we stopped the automobile.” Barrowman interrupted.

Violet looked back and forth between the men and her driver. “Detective, may I speak to you alone.”

Sherlock stepped up beside his cousin and escorted her into a small reception room just off the foyer. Lestrade came into the room behind them.

“Sir, you must forgive Lenard.” She started.

“I do not see why? He attacked my officers. I should arrest him and have him detained in jail for trial.”

“That would be quite unnecessary. Lenard was arrested by the Germans just before the war started. He was . . . mistreated by them. Ever since, he has had an unreasonable fear of men in uniform. Surely you can understand why.”

Lestrade paused a moment and looked back and forth between the woman and Holmes.

“If you and your chauffeur do not attempt to leave Vauxhall again until I allow it, I will not pursue charges.”

Violet nodded. “Thank you.”

“Violet,” Sherlock gently prompted. “If you need to post a letter, I will have Mycroft place it in the secured pouch that a bonded courier will be collecting today.”

“Are you sure Mycroft will allow that? It is only a letter to my aunt.”

“I am sure he would be very accommodating.” Sherlock smiled insincerely.

Violet left the room and returned to her restrained driver.

“Lenard, please turn Aunt Lillian’s letter over to Mister Holmes. He shall deal with it for me.”

The man looked at the two police officers holding him. Then he looked at Lestrade.

“Go ahead, release him.”

The police glanced at the man between them, then let go of his arms. Lenard reached inside his jacket and removed the blue envelope and handed it to Violet Hunter. Violet in turn handed it to Sherlock.

“Thank you, Sherlock. And please thank your brother.” She smiled and walked away from the men. Lenard following quickly behind her.

Sherlock rushed away quickly. He found John walking down the staircase just as he reached the last step.

“Your penknife, John.” Sherlock held out his hand.

“What?!”

“Why do you insist on making me repeat myself? I want your pin knife.”

John reached into his pocket and took out the folded blade. He handed it over to Sherlock who opened the blade and slipped it under the paper. In a swift move, he sliced opened the blue envelope and expectantly pulled out the letter. Sherlock quickly read the missive. He twisted the paper to look at the writing at a different angle. Then he sniffed at it before he waded it up.

“Nothing!” Sherlock hissed. “No code, no lemon juice. Nothing!”

“What is it?” John asked.

“Not what I was expecting.”

“Bad news?”

“No, a letter to Violet’s Aunt Lillian in York.” Sherlock stepped away from the stairs.

“What were you expecting it to be?” John followed the man.

“A dispatch listing the troop movements of British forces.”

“You’re joking!” John gasped.

Sherlock turned and looked at John. His eyes scanned, taking in all of John’s face.

“Why do you want to go to Edinburgh?”

“I told you. I don’t, but where else can I go. I don’t really want to be in the country, and I can’t afford London.”

Sherlock seemed to be contemplating something. “I want to show you something John. Please follow me.” He reached to the man’s coat and tossed it towards him, then he slipped on his own.

“What is it?”

“A Norman chapel. It’s here in the woods.”

Sherlock walked through the house with John beside him. John wasn’t sure as to why suddenly Sherlock wanted to take him to the ancient church but obviously the man had his reasons. John had to quicken his steps to keep up with Sherlock’s long legs. The walked through the garden and past the folly. John commented of the Bedouin tent but Sherlock didn’t answer him.

“John, I’ve made a decision. I’m going to leave Vauxhall after we discover who the killer is.”

“We?”

“Yes . . . I’m going to London.” They were just inside the tree line and Sherlock stopped to look at John. “I’m going to start working professionally. I am going to consult with Scotland Yard.”

John smiled. “Does Scotland Yard know that yet?”

“Please John this is difficult for me . . .”

“Sorry . . .” John ducked his head.

“I’m going to be a consulting detective.”

John looked back up at Sherlock and smiled. “I don’t know what that is but I know you will be excellent at it.”

“I will? . . . I mean . . . you know?”

“Yes . . . you are excellent at everything you do.”

Sherlock paused at what John said then he gave John his very rare honest smile. John returned the smile. The flash over Sherlock’s shoulder drew John’s attention away from Sherlock bright open face. A small flicker of sunlight over a lens. John grabbed Sherlock’s arm and pulled him down. The gun shot rang out as the two men crashed to the ground.


	18. Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the murder attempt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry about the delay in downloading this chapter. As I said before, RL has just hit hard. Thank you for being patient with me and I hope I haven't lost anyone yet. 
> 
> This story started out as a simple story about James and Q and the difficulties of being a homosexual a hundred years ago but of course I can't let simple things be simple. Now I have Sherlock and John falling for each other and a killer running around and spies and traitors. I really need to mellow out.

Wounds

The gun shot rang out in the cold air. The birds burst from the trees at the noise. Their screeches pierced the sky as John huddled over Sherlock’s body. John’s heart was racing. Images of the trenches flashed before his eyes again. He could hear the men shouting for help. He could smell the blood and earth. His body shivered with cold. Like the damp cold that seeped into his bones as he huddled in the mud of the trenches.

The sound of shouts became clearer and John looked up. Apparently the sound of the gunshot had made it to the house. Soldiers were rushing out of the building and into the garden. Some were armed. One soldier carried a billiard cue, while another had a cricket bat. One soldier rushed out the French doors waving the fireplace poker. Most of the soldiers were unarmed and shouting at whomever fired the gun.

John looked over to where he had seen the glint from the scope reflecting the sunlight. He saw nothing. Sherlock moaned under him and John’s attention was drawn away from the trees.

“Are you hurt?” John asked, his voice quite husky from fear.

“I believe . . . yes.” Sherlock slowly sat up and looked down at his side. He opened the front of his coat and John could see the bloom of blood oozing through the white shirt.

John’s heart raced. He grabbed Sherlock’s shoulders but shouted at the men approaching them.

“LITTER! I NEED A LITTER!”

The soldiers paused. Two went running back into the house. John turned and looked Sherlock in the face.

“Lay down. It will be alright.” His hands were pressing into Sherlock’s shoulders. His mind was racing. ‘ _Too much blood! Too much blood!’_

“Of course it will be. It’s only a scratch.” Sherlock replied unaware of the panic rushing through his friend.

“Sherlock, damn it, I’m the doctor, not you. Let me decide if it is going to be alright and what is a scratch and what is a bloody gunshot wound!” John pushed Sherlock to lay down as the two soldiers ran up with a white sheet.

Against Sherlock’s protestations, the men laid him down on the sheet and six of them picked up the edges and started to carry the wounded Holmes into the house. John pushed a cotton bandage over of Sherlock’s wound and refused to let go. As they entered the day room and started walking to the examination rooms, Bond saw them.

~Q~

James had heard the gunshot and his first thought was the spy. He rushed to the window and looked down as he saw the men bringing the injured man in on the sheet. He saw the thin body and wild dark hair. The red stain was spreading across the white sheet. Instantly, the thought of Q. He rushed down the stairs, pushing past the confused servants. His heart was pounding in his chest. He crashed through the doors of the day room just as John and men brought Holmes in. Bond pushed his way through the crowd.

“Q?!” he shouted.

“No, it’s Sherlock. He’s been shot.” John said not stopping to explain anything to Bond. Sherlock was barking orders but no one listened to him. John held his hand over Sherlock’s wound as the men carried him into the examination room.

Bond stood watching as they closed the door and Sherlock’s shouts died away. His heart still racing. He quickly glanced around the room and there he saw Quincy Holmes. The young man was standing in the corner with a group of men. Q’s expression was a mixture of fear and confusion. Bond quickly rushed across the room and grabbed Q’s upper arm. The young man only gave a moment’s hesitation till he relented and followed the blonde. He was pulled along by James up the stairs and into his room.

“James?! What’s happening?”

“You are leaving!” Bond pushed Q into the dressing room. He looked around then started grabbing clothes from their hangers.

“But . . . Lestrade said no one could leave.”

“I don’t bloody care what the son of a bitch said! You are leaving . . . Moneypenny will take you to London. Where is a suitcase?” He started piling the clothes on the daybed, as he looked around the room for anything else the young man might need to flee.

“What? Why? . . . Moneypenny?” Q babbled.

“Your cousin been murdered. Your brother been shot. I can’t let anything happen to you. I won’t!” He went into the bathroom and started putting together a shaving kit for the young man. “I have a townhouse in London. Alec has a key. You will stay there. You will be safe.”

“James, I’m not going! I won’t go without you!” Q said as he tried to pull his belongs out of James’ hands. “Stop this!”

James dropped the toiletries and grabbed Q by the shoulders. His fingers pressed bruises into the young man’s skin.

“Q! There is a killer in this house. They have already killed Victor and now they’ve shot your brother. I can’t let them harm you!”

“James, no one is going to harm me . . . at least no one if I’m with you.” Q spoke softly as he tried to calm the other man. Q brought his hand up and cupped James’ face. He smiled then leaned in and kissed the older man. “I am always safe when I’m with you, James.”

“Q, I have to find this killer.”

“I know, and you will.”

“Please, Q . . .”

“Lestrade won’t let me leave and I refuse to leave until I’m sure Sherlock is going to be alright. Besides, you said you were taking to Scotland, not London. In London, we might draw attention to ourselves. We can’t afford that. It’s going to be Scotland, James. You and me.”

James pulled the young man close to him and the two kissed. James took several steps forward and pushed Q into the wall. Trapping the young man with his body. James’ hands moved over Q’s frame. Holding and touching the man. Reassuring himself of Q’s presence. Q moaned as James reached down and left heated kisses across his neck.

“You will always be with me or Moneypenny. Never alone.”

Q cocked his head to side trying to understand Bond’s demands. “Moneypenny?”

“Yes, she’s an operative from MI6.”

“Both of you? . . . Spies?”

James smiled at the young man. He pulled Q in for another hug and kiss. “Yes, both of us . . . your brother is less than pleased.” Q smiled and laughed slightly. “Q, I mean it. I need to know you will be safe.”

“How did you phrase it? . . . Your wish is my command. Yes, I will be with you or Eve when I’m not with Sherlock or John.”

Bond could feel his body begin to relax. He spent a moment enjoying the closeness of Q to himself. Moments like this were going to be rare until he could whisk the boy away to Skyfall. Then he would do everything in his power to never be away from Q.

~Q~

Sherlock sat on the examination table. His shirt was removed and John was finishing bandaging the wound on the man’s side. The two of them were alone in the examination room, John having sent the other soldiers away, to look for the shooter.

“Like I said, just a scratch.” Sherlock shifted forcing himself to not whinge in pain.

John was bent forward, his face close to Sherlock’s side. The dark haired man’s left arm rested on John’s shoulder.

“It is called a flesh wound. It is half an inch deep and four inches long. Not quite a scratch, Mister Holmes.”

John was trying to not let Sherlock’s proximity or the fact the man was half naked affect him. John could smell Sherlock’s scent. Tobacco and mint. It was masculine and warm. Pleasing to John’s imagination. It made the soldier’s mouth water. He dipped his head and ducked under Sherlock’s arm, hiding his face. John carefully wrapped the gauze around the Sherlock’s torso, glancing occasionally up into the man’s unreadable face.

“You said you were going to London . . .”

Sherlock shifted as John’s warm fingers brushed over his skin. John noticed a slight blush to the pale flesh.

“Yes, I want to work.”

“You’re the brother of an English lord. Your family owns an estate. You don’t have to work, Sherlock.”

“I said I wanted too, not that I had too. I will go to London and become a consulting detective.”

“I’m not sure what that is but I’m sure you will be excellent at it.”

“You already said that.” Sherlock winced when John stood up straight. The two men looked at each other’s faces.

“Yes, just before you were shot.” John stepped back looking at bandage. Sherlock’s hand was still resting on John. His fingers curled over and gripped the blonde’s shoulder.

“My former nanny, Mrs. Hudson, owns a house near Reagent Park. She is willing to rent out several rooms as a second flat to earn money. We could take the flat together.” Sherlock looked back into John’s face.

John was momentary thrown by the statement. “Are you asking me to be your flat mate?”

“You said you wanted to go to London, but you couldn’t afford to live there. I know Mrs. Hudson would give us a very good rate on the flat and your pension would be more than sufficient to cover your half.”

“Just flat mates, not . . . what did you say this morning? . . . Assistant?”

“I thought we agreed on colleague.”

“Colleague?” John stared at Sherlock for a moment then stepped back further, letting Sherlock’s arm drop.

The dark haired man hissed slightly as his arm slipped off John’s shoulder. John felt a twinge of guilt. Sherlock picked up his shirt and regarded the blood stained and torn cotton.

“I thought you preferred the term colleague.” Sherlock said trying not to look at John now.

“I would prefer . . . never mind.” John turned and went to clean up the debris from treating Sherlock’s injury. Sherlock stopped fussing with his torn shirt and looked at John’s back.

“John . . . what would you prefer?” Sherlock lowered his voice. Even though it was soft, John didn’t struggle to hear it. It filled the space around the doctor and seemed to warm the air.

“I thought . . . maybe friend.”

“I don’t have friends.” Sherlock said disappointed by John’s comment.

John turned and looked at Sherlock. The dark haired man could see the pain in John’s eyes. Always an open book about his emotions but never dull or boring to read. Sherlock found John fascinating and exciting.

“I see. My mistake.” John stepped closer. “I am sorry that I have bothered you, Mister Holmes.”

Sherlock stared up into John’s hurt expression. He felt an awkward pain in his chest. He didn’t like to think he had caused the distress the doctor was feeling.

“I said I don’t have friends . . . I just have one . . . you, John. I would prefer we were friends who shared a flat together . . . I would prefer we were friends who worked together . . .” Sherlock watched to see if there was any change in John’s expression. “I would prefer we were . . . more than friends.”

John suddenly wanted nothing more than that too. He wanted Sherlock. To hold him and touch him to maybe even . . . kiss him. The taller man intently looking into John’s sapphire blue eyes. John opened his mouth to say something, but his mind could not supply his lips the words. His eyes migrated back and forth between Sherlock’s silver green eyes and his cupid bow lips.

“Oh, God yes!”

John rushed forward and clasped Sherlock’s face between his two hands. He plunged forward and crashed his lips into Sherlock’s. Sherlock’s lips were warm and dry. Pressed firm to John’s assault. John’s heart was beating loud in his own ears. He was positive Sherlock heard it too.He closed his eyes and pushed a little firmer into Sherlock’s mouth. He felt the skim of Sherlock’s fingers as they drag through his shirt, pulling him down. Sherlock moaned as John licked his lip. John’s tongue slipped passed the parted lips and smeared against Sherlock’s. The sound seemed to ignite John. The man wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders and pushed him back down on to the examination table.

Sherlock stiffened and hissed. He threw his chin up as the pain from his side burned through his lust; just as John tipped his chin down to pull back and look in Sherlock’s eyes. The two men’s chins met with a solid whack. Sudden sharp pain jolted John back from his desire.

“Oh . . . God . . . Sherlock, I’m so sorry . . . did I hurt you? . . . Sit up!” John quickly switched into doctor mode upon hearing the man’s pained gasp.

“John, I’m fine.” Sherlock’s fingers were still gripping John’s shirt and not letting go.

“No you’re not.” He tried to pull the man up. “I shouldn’t have . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . I shouldn’t have done that. Please forgive me.”

Sherlock growled. “NO!”

John stopped his ranting and glared at the man. “NO?!”

“Stop it, John. I wanted you to do that. In fact, if you hadn’t done it, I would have done it to you. I wanted too and I want to do it again.”

“Sherlock . . .” John had difficulty swallowing around the word. “I . . . no, Sherlock . . . Just no. I’m sorry, I’m your doctor . . . I shouldn’t have . . . I can’t do this.”

John stepped back from the other man and fled the room. As Sherlock sat on the examination table, he could tell the gunshot wound burned in his side, but the greater pain was in his chest. His body shook with emotion. John had left him there alone. Just left him.


	19. Jäger und Beute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spy is found out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the end. Bond and Sherlock figure out who the spy is. I'm sure many of you all ready know. Thank you for sticking with me and this story. I will try to get the next chapter up in two to three days. Thanks for your comments. They are like candy for me.

Jäger und beute

Lestrade sat at the desk trying to read the reports on the interviews the men had done the day before. It was bloody difficult. The room was ostentatious and he was completely uncomfortable. He didn’t know rooms let alone houses like this still existed. Vauxhall was like something out of a gothic novel. All it was missing was the bats and the vampires.

He shifted in his chair as he flipped through the papers. His mind wandered to the inhabitants. The three sons and Lady Emma Holmes. Quite a collection. Lady Emma was petite next to her towering sons. Silver white hair on top of her pale square face. The same square face her sons had. The well-defined jaw line and prominent cheek bones; but Lady Emma’s face was softer. Not as sharp and narrow as her sons. Maybe that softness was what made her intelligent blue eyes more intimidating. Piercing blue that could cut glass.

Those same blue eyes glared down on Lestrade from the portrait on the wall. The woman herself, immortalize in oil and canvas, watching the world from her place above everyone who walked into the room. Lestrade glanced up at the painting then tried to focus back at the reports he and Barrowman were reviewing. She seem to be watching Lestrade. Silently condescending his actions. He wondered how her sons held up under the gaze of their mother. Was she as intimidating to them as she was to him? He wondered how the sons seem to flourish in this environment. No wonder, Sherlock was as disagreeable as he was.

It had only been a day since Victor Trevor’s dead body had been found in this room. Lestrade and Barrowman had taken over the library as their operations room for the investigation. The two men sat at the large desk reading through the interviews of the various staff and service men that the bobbies had taken. If anything stood out, then Lestrade or Barrowman were going to re-interview the person themselves.

Lestrade glanced up at the painting again. Lady Emma seemed to questioning him with her expressions. Quizzing him to see if he had come to a cleaver conclusion yet. It was very distracting. He turned his attention back to another report.

The soft knock on the door came just before Molly stepped into the room with another tray of tea.

“Thank God, Miss Hooper. Perfect timing.” Lestrade said as he quickly stood.

Barrowman remained sitting as the woman approached the desk. Lestrade quickly dragged the notes together that had been spread across the desk, making room for Molly to set the service down. Lestrade glared at Barrowman and cleared his throat. Barrowman glanced up and saw the woman. Instead of rising to greet her, he dropped his gaze and continued reading.

“Two sugars, dear. And did you bring some chocolate biscuits?” Barrowman quizzed.

“No sir, but some lovely jam cake.” Molly said unphased by the man’s rudeness.

Lestrade cleared his throat again and coughed. “Ah . . . Barrowman, I need you to go and check on the constables. Collect any new interview reports they’ve written up . . . and then find out if Holmes is alright. Nothing more serious than a flesh wound.”

Barrowman looked up at the detective inspector. “I don’t think they will have anything more just yet sir. It’s only been three hours.”

“Well, make sure to do the other two things too. And have Carmichael go out and see if there is any evidence where the shooter was again.”

“Sir, we’ve been over that area twice.”

“Well, make it three times.” Lestrade tried to not sound exasperated at the man’s denseness. “Miss Hooper, thank you for the lovely tea. Would you like to join me?”

Barrowman glanced up at the young woman then over at Lestrade. He stood up with a huff and took out his notebook and pencil. Lestrade didn’t worry that Barrowman would say anything because he doubted the man had enough imagination to draw any conclusions about Molly and himself. At this moment Greg Lestrade could agree with Sherlock Holmes, ‘ _the police are idiots.’_

Molly waited till Barrowman left before she spoke.

“I really shouldn’t.” She smiled sweetly at the older man.

“Please. One shouldn’t drink their tea alone. And you’ve provided me with so much.” He leaned forward and whispered. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

Molly giggled slightly, quickly covering her smile with her hand. She smoothed her skirt and sat in the chair recently vacated by Barrowman.

“Thank you. No one ever thinks about us servants.”

Lestrade poured Molly a cup and handed it to her. She took a slice of the jam cake and nibbled at the edge of it.

“Well, I thank you, Molly. May I call you Molly?” He raised an eyebrow at the young woman. She smiled and nodded her head. “Good, please call me Greg.”

~Q~

John tried to stay out of Sherlock’s way for the rest of the day. After he fled the infirmary, he spent an hour wandering around with the police officers in the woods looking for any evidence from the shooter. Other than an empty brass cartridge there was no proof a gun had been fired. He slipped back into the house and asked Anderson if he could sleep in the room he shared with orderlies previously. Anderson, of course refused. Sister Donavan made a snide comment about him sleeping at the foot of his masters’ bed. John’s anger flared but he didn’t let it loose on the harpie.

John now sat in one of the day rooms with the other soldiers. He watched from his corner as various constables questioned two to three soldiers at a time. Most of men hadn’t seen anything. None of them had ever met Victor Trevor. There was never any chances for the soldiers recuperating to interact with members of the family let alone their house guests. John thought the police were wasting their time questioning the soldiers, but it seemed Greg Lestrade was a through investigator and would follow a set pattern of investigation.

He turned to look out of the French windows and the grey winter sky. A storm would be coming in tonight and John wondered if he would find a warm bed to sleep beforehand. He could just kip in this room but he doubt the servants would light the fires just for him. John went back to his game of solitare ignoring the police as they made their way to another group of soldiers.

John heard the sound of footsteps as they made their way across the wooden floor, towards him. He glanced up to see Sherlock striding to him. John narrowed his gaze and set his jaw. He was not ready for another meeting with the man. John stood, pushing his chair back. The legs scrapping loudly on the wooden floor. The sound made Sherlock stop. He stood still as John pause for a moment to stare the man down before he turned and marched out of the room. John walked down the halls in search of another place to hide from Sherlock.

~Q~

Eve sat down at the small card table that Bond and Quincy Holmes were sitting at. She had been watching the two men since she had arrived at Vauxhall. The staff was far too loyal to gossip about their young master but numerous rumors were flying about the blonde soldier. Most of the staff agreed that Bond was taking advantage of the youngest Holmes, but few would stipulate how he was taking advantage. A few of the female staff were intranced by Bond’s blue eyes and were more than willing to help save Quincy Holmes by distracting Bond’s attention. Eve found this very amusing.

Before she sat down she had noticed the two men engrossed in their private conversation. Heads near as they looked directly at each other. Something most men don’t normally do. When she sat down, the two men pulled back from each other and turned their attention towards her.

“Any news, Moneypenny?” Bond asked as he nonchalantly started to shuffle the deck of cards on the table.

“I did a quick but thorough search of Adler’s rooms. Nothing. I tried to search Hunter’s rooms but she caught me as I was opening the door. I didn’t get in there. Victor Trevor’s rooms were searched by the police. I’m sure they would have found something if it was obvious. The maids have already packed up his belongings and sent them to the police station. I doubt I will be able to find anything left of significance there.”

“We’ll notify London to intercept his things and searched in route.” James said. “What about the staff? Any clues there?”

“They think you did it.” She smiled at the man. Bond rolled his eyes. “Apparently, you are the subject of several juicy bits of gossip.”

Q shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Who is talking about James?”

Eve’s eyes glanced over to the young man. She could see the flash of fear in the boy’s eyes as well as the rising blush to his skin.

“You’re name is not being mentioned except as a victim, Mister Holmes. Is that true are you prey to this predator?”

She watched as Q’s eyes grew larger and his throat bobbed with a hard swallow.

“Careful, Eve. Mister Holmes is a good friend of mine. I wouldn’t want to see him insulted by accusations.” James face was emotionless but his voice was suddenly very cold and threating.

“My, James. How have you grown so attached in such a short period of time?”

“He is a remarkable individual . . . Very intelligent . . . Great conversationalist.”

Q blushed deeper. He ducked his head down and tried to avoid Eve’s gaze. Eve just smiled again.

“I think it is you who needs to be careful, James. How does Lord Holmes feel about your admiration of his younger brother?”

“It is none of his business. And as soon as this mission is over, I will make sure that Lord Holmes is completely out of Q’s life.”

“Well, that means you and Quincy are going away together, unless you plan on . . .”

“Q and I will be taking a holiday together. That is all you need to know and all you need to tell Mallory.” James face remained unreadable but Q was wishing the two would quit talking like he wasn’t there.

“Of course, James. Whatever you need.”

John came into the yellow sitting room where Bond and Q were sitting at a table with Eve Moneypenny. John waited for a moment before he decided to join the three people. He really didn’t want to talk to a Holmes at that point but, of the three brothers, Quincy was the least offensive in John’s opinion.

He cleared his throat and pulled his shoulders back. He had been avoiding Sherlock all day and as a result seemed to have been avoiding all human contact. He just wanted someone to talk to and reassure him, he was still alive.

“Good evening. Mind if I join you?” John sat down before he was invited. He tried to keep his attention fixed on Bond.

Eve glanced over at John as he sat down. She did a quick inventory of the soldier. Blonde hair, strong arms and hands. Slight tremor to the left. Remarkable dark blue eyes. Eve nodded and smiled. Maybe she had found someone who would be willing to play with her.

“Eve Moneypenny . . .” She held her hand out to the man. “Since no one is going to be a gentleman and introduce me.”

“Oh . . . yes, nice to meet you. John Watson.” John took her hand and shook it politely.

Eve’s appraising eye scanned over John’s face. The smile broadened on her face and John noticed her dark chocolate eyes flash with approval. He smiled back.

“Now where have you been keeping yourself,” Eve asked with wink. John actually blushed slightly at the woman’s forwardness.

“Around.”

Quincy exhaled and spoke up. “Doctor John Watson works here in the sanatorium. He treats the soldiers who come here after surgery. He is a very good doctor.”

“Sorry, Q, I used to work here.” John sighed. “I got my discharge orders two days ago. I’ll be leaving as soon as Lestrade let’s me.”

“What?! Does Sherlock know? He’ll be very upset if you leave without saying good bye.” Q was surprised by John’s news.

“He knows, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t think he will be upset to see me leave.”

“Obviously you didn’t ask that of the man in question.” Sherlock was standing directly behind John.

The doctor sat up straight. He glared at Bond who had noticed the other man walk up behind John. The doctor thought Bond would have at least given him a hint the man was walking into the room. Eve and Q watched John’s face try to become neutral as Sherlock took the seat beside him.

“John, on the contrary, I would very . . . disappointed to see you leave . . . you have been . . . helpful in my investigation.”

“Sherlock, this is not the place to talk about this.” John said trying to keep his voice even.

“I would have spoken to you before, but you were . . . not amenable.”

“Sherlock . . . please.” John finally looked at the man.

Sherlock could see the anxiety in the man’s eyes. The two shared a moment of silent conversation, then Sherlock turned to Bond.

“So why did MI6 send multiple spies to my brother’s house?” Sherlock asked. John released his breath he had been holding.

Bond was surprised by Sherlock’s abrupt change of attention. He stared for a moment at the dark hair man. Pausing to gather his thoughts.

“MI6 didn’t. I was actually injured returning from Berlin. I woke up here a just over a week ago. Moneypenny was sent to guard me while I recuperated.”

John glanced over at the woman. “Eve? She’s a spy too?”

The woman smiled at John.

“So the fact that Nightingale is here the same time you are is just a coincidence?” Sherlock ignored John’s questions.

“Your cousin, Victor Trevor, Nightingale.” Bond’s eyes never left Sherlock’s face, but his hand slipped over Q’s forearm. Sherlock’s eyes glanced down at the hand then back up to Bond’s face.

“Victor was not Nightingale.”

Bond didn’t say anything but John barked. “How can you be sure? After what you said he tried to do. He wouldn’t have thought twice about betraying you!”

“Victor was a blackmailer, a liar and a manipulator, but spy . . .” Sherlock drew his mouth into a pout. “Not ruthless enough.” Sherlock smiled at Bond. “No offence.”

Q felt a sudden wave of fear rush through him. What was his brother playing at? Bond kept his hand curled around the young man’s arm. Q could feel the warmth of James’ hand through his shirt.

“No offence taken. Ruthless and unconscionable. I excel at both.”

“Should I be worried for my brother?” Sherlock asked.

“No, I am also protective and fiercely loyal.”

“Like another soldier I know.” Sherlock glanced briefly at John then back to Bond. John and Sherlock’s eyes locked for a moment. Silvery blue and vivid sapphire. Then Sherlock returned his gaze to Bond. “No, I don’t believe Victor was the man you sought.”

“I saw Victor in a German general’s house. I heard him speaking to the general.”

Sherlock knitted his brow. “Odd, Victor didn’t speak German very well.”

“The general was speaking to him . . . Victor and his female companion.” Bond said remembering the night.

“Did you see her?”

“No just her ankle and shoe. Black, narrow toe, two inch heel.”

“Irene Adler . . .” Eve asked.

“No . . . she is a blackmailer but her secrets she keeps for herself. She is an intelligent woman who lives outside excepted behaviors and needs to protect herself.” Sherlock said. “A remarkable and unique adversary, but not a spy.”

John glanced at Sherlock as he spoke about the woman. He almost sounded like he admired Irene. John didn’t want to consider why that would make him angry. Eve raised an eyebrow and let a small smile come to her mouth.

“You sound like you admire her.” James said.

“The prey knows its hunter.” Sherlock replied.

“Jäger und beute.” John said softly.

Bond and Sherlock turned and looked at the soldier. “What did you say?” Bond snapped at the man.

“Jäger und beute, it was something the German POW would say. The hunter’s prey.” John said innocently.

“Hunter and the prey is a better translation.” Sherlock said. He quickly turned and looked at Bond. “What was the name of that general in Berlin?”

“Franz Jäger.”

“Francis Hunter was Violet’s husband’s name. He told me he was named for an uncle.”

“Franz Jäger, Francis Hunter.” Bond looked at the people sitting at the table. “It couldn’t be that simple could it?”

“It is quite often the simple answers we tend to overlook. Two people were responsible for murdering Victor. Violet arrived with her private chauffeur. She travels across from Switzerland to England routinely and no one stops to question her because she is English but her dead husband’s family is from Salzburg in Austria.” Sherlock started to slip the pieces together.

“Yes, they are Austrian and fighting with us not against us.” John said.

“Salzburg has been part of the Austrian Empire for less than fifty years, John. Before 1866 it was part of the Kingdom of Bavaria. It is more German than Brandenburg.” Sherlock jested.

“Your cousin, Violet, has been trying to worm her way into the household.” Eve said. “She’s asked your brother if she could move in here with the family. She’s been in his office several times. She could have seen the dispatch case on any of those visits.”

“Of course, she would have access to Mycroft and access to Whitehall. She is even more deceptive than I ever imagined her.” Sherlock leaned back in his chair.

“But . . . the letter . . . you said it was nothing.” John looked up at Sherlock.

“It was nothing. Just a letter to her aunt, but Lenard could easily been carrying two letters instead of just one. The first letter was a diversion while the real letter with the dispatch was still hidden on his person.”

“Right, now we have targets . . .” James stood up. “Holmes, you and Watson go and find Violet Hunter, hold her. Eve take Q to his room and make sure he is protected while I’ll go and track down Lenard.”

“He will be out in the garage or down in the kitchens.” Sherlock stood with John following him.

“WAIT! I’M NOT GOING TO MISS ANY OF THIS!”   Q shouted. Other soldiers in the room finally looked over at the table.

James took Q by the shoulder and pulled him closer. Whispering he said, “I need to know you are safe. Please go with Eve and just wait until this is over. Then later . . . later I promise, we will leave together. We won’t be apart again.”

“You’ll be careful . . . you promise?” Q looked up into James’ crystal blue eyes.

“I promise.”

Q nodded and turned to Eve. The woman was not happy with babysitting but she was under orders to help Bond as he needed. Sherlock and John were already rushing from the room when Bond went after the chauffeur.


	20. The Norman Chapel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violet shows her hand and tries to escape but not before trying to kill someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning. Violet Hunter is a homophobe and will be saying some unpleasant things. Remember that homosexuality is still illegal in England at this time and actually in most of the world. Please don't be offended. Thank you for the wonderful support and comments through this story. You always make it enjoyable for me and I hope you too have enjoyed yourselves.

The Norman Chapel

The five people split up; Eve and Q headed towards the family’s portion of the house, Sherlock and John headed to the main hall of the house and James went to the kitchens downstairs.

“Sherlock, we need to find your butler. He has my suitcase.” John said as he quickly rushed after Sherlock.

“Why do you need your suitcase?”

“My service revolver is in it. We are going to need it.”

“Yes, quite right . . . your valise is in my room, upstairs.”

“Your room?” John stumbled slightly at the statement from Sherlock.

“Yes. I thought it would be better to be there. I would convince you to change your mind.” Sherlock changed directions and moved to a servant’s staircase to go upstairs.

“Change my mind?”

“About London.” Sherlock took the stairs two at a time.

“London?”

“John, it is very irritating when you insist on repeating everything I say. Almost as irritating as having to repeat myself.” Sherlock chided the man behind him.

“Sherlock, I told you I can’t go to London.”

“No John, you said you wouldn’t go to London even though that is exactly where you not only want to go but are needed to go.”

“I’m needed?” Sherlock finally turned and glared at the shorter man.

“Yes, needed. I need you.”

John came up short and looked up at Sherlock. “Sherlock, I know you think you need me, but . . . you don’t need anyone . . . and I don’t think after this morning . . . after I . . . kissed you.”

Suddenly, Sherlock grabbed John by both shoulders, holding him tight. He leaned forward and smeared his lips across John’s surprised lips. It took a moment for the two to synchronize and actually start to kiss. It was dry and firm but most definitely a commanding caress.

Sherlock pulled back and stared into John’s blue eyes. The soldier was panting and shaking ever so slightly.

“There . . . now I’ve kissed you. Will you believe me now in that I wanted it to happen? I want it to happen again.” Sherlock whispered sharply.

“But Sherlock . . . how could you . . . it’s illegal.”

“How could I? Because I find you fascinating! You are the only person I’ve met in a long time whom I can be in the same room without wanting to throttle. You are intelligent and brave . . . strong and loyal . . . and you are . . . beautiful to me.”

Sherlock could feel John shiver in his grasp. He leaned forward and took another kiss. This one was soft and chaste.

“As for illegal . . . what two consenting adults do in the privacy of their London flat is no one’s business, especially the Metropolitan police department. Who cares what we do as long as we don’t hurt anyone else. All that matters is us and the work. Together.”

John felt incredible warm. He reached up with his hand and pulled Sherlock’s face closer for just one more kiss. Parting he said.

“This is stupid. We’ll never make this work but . . . I . . . yes, I’ll go to London with you . . . But we need to go slow. I need to answer some personal questions first. But yes, I’ll go and I’ll assist you.”

“Colleague, John. You must remember your place.” Sherlock smiled.

“I think it will go without saying that you will routinely remind me of my place.” John smiled back. “Now, let’s go capture a spy.”

~Q~

Eve and Quincy went to Quincy’s room as soon as they left the others. Eve was pouting that she was unable to be involved in the actual capture of the spies but her orders were to protect Bond while he was unconscious then assist him when he was awake. She would be babysitting the youngest Holmes for Bond. There was no question now in Eve’s mind the significance of the dark haired man in Bond’s life. She only wondered how the two of them would be able to keep it quiet given how attracted the two were to each other.

Quincy opened the door to his bedroom and held it for the young woman. The lights were on in the room and Quincy thought Meyers was probably still waiting up for him.

“I have to admit, you are the first woman other than my mother whom I have ever invited into my bedroom.” Quincy blushed as Eve stepped over the threshold.

“Well, Mister Holmes, I expect you to be a gentleman.” Eve teased. Her attention was on the young man instead of the room.

The barrel of the gun pressed firmly to the nape of her neck once she walked passed the door. Eve paused and stood perfectly still. She didn’t even want to breathe. It was foolish mistake. She knew it. She should have checked the room, especially behind the door, before she let Quincy Holmes enter.

The young man rushed forward when he saw Eve in danger. He pulled up short when a second gun was pushed into his ribs.

“Dear cousin, where have you been?” Violet’s sharp diction suddenly seemed more German than British to the young man.

“What is this about, Violet?” Q glanced over Eve’s shoulder and into his cousin’s watery blue eyes. He turned slightly and saw Lenard, her chauffeur, holding the revolver at his side.

“I thought you would be returning with that spy, Bond.” Violet said. “I never thought you would be entertaining Miss Moneypenny tonight. Does dear cousin Mycroft know about your proclivities?”

“James, a spy? What are you talking about? Why are you holding guns on us?” Q was trying to sound as innocent as possible.

“Quincy, you can cease the dramatics. First off, I saw your James in Berlin as he fled my uncle’s home. He didn’t see me but you must admit, James Bond is quite a remarkable looking man. Not one to easily forget. I am sure that is what attracted you to him, Quincy. It is obvious that the two of you are involved. I always knew you were some ekelhaftes schwein.”

Q pulled his shoulders back and glared at his cousin. “At least I’m not a traitor. A liar and hure.”

Lenard punched Q in the kidneys. The young man collapsed to the floor.

“You are going to regret that, cousin dear.” Violet hissed at Q. Eve took a step sideways to attack but the other woman was prepared. She slapped the barrel across the side of Eve’s head. Blood gushed from the wound as Eve gasped and grabbed her head.

“Stop it!” Q shouted.

“Get up.” Violet waved her gun at the two people. “We need a distraction to make our escape. I wanted it to be you and your spy, Bond, but I will have to settle for you and this tart. Let’s go.”

Violet stepped away but Lenard kept his gun fixed on the two. Q helped Eve stand and they followed Violet over to the bookcase with the hidden passageway. She pressed the latch and door swung open.

“Yes, Quincy . . . I remember all the places we used to hide as children. Time for us to leave.” She lit an oil lamp and headed into the darkness.

Eve glanced at Q then she followed Violet into the darkness. Only pausing briefly and she grasped the wooden frame of the bookcase to steady herself. Q stepped up to her and wrapped his arm around her waist to support her, then the two disappeared into the dark. Lenard closed the door and followed.

~Q~

Sherlock and John didn’t find Violet in here rooms. Sherlock immediately rushed down the halls and towards his brother’s room. Sherlock opened the door and stepped into the room. It was empty. He started looking around while John stood at the door.

“Sherlock? . . . Shouldn’t we go help Bond? . . . What are we doing here?” John asked.

“I made a mistake.”

“You? No.”

“She knew. I made a mistake.”

“What are you talking about?” John watched as the tall man rushed around the room looking at as much as he could quickly.

“The letter. She must have seen me open it and read it. She knows we know who she is. She will need to escape.”

“Well, if she is escaping then why are we here?”

Sherlock paused and looked down at the carpet. He knelt down and dabbed his fingers at a dark stain. A red smear came back on the tips of his fingers. Sherlock sniffed at it, quickly detecting the metallic scent. Blood.

“Hostages. She needed hostages.” He glanced up and saw the small smudge of blood on the bookcase.

He stood and went to the hidden passageway. Together the two men rushed forward into the darkness.

~Q~

Bond didn’t find Lenard with the other servants in the kitchen. They told Bond that Lenard chose to sleep in the garage with the cars than upstairs in the attic with the other members of staff. Bond rushed out of the kitchens and across the lawns to the distant building.

The building was empty. Bond checked Hunter’s car and found two suitcases in the boot. He went to the engine and pulled the distributor cap off. Tossing it aside when he stepped back outside into the night.

To the northeast, Bond saw a glow in the night sky. The bitter scent of smoke came to him. Without thinking he took off running in the direction of the growing fire.

~Q~

Violet and Lenard had forced Eve and Q out of the library and into the garden. They marched the two into the woods and towards the stone Norman chapel in the distance. As soon as they opened the doors, Violet relit the oil lamp she was carrying. The weak light barely illuminated the cold stone room. The chapel had been abandoned over a century before. The windows were broken and the floor was covered with leaves and debris that had blown in. The wooden pews were still there as well as the altar table but they had been moved around and some were tipped over.

“Up there towards, the altar.” Lenard waved his gun at the two.  

Eve took Q’s hand and walked further into the room. They turned to see Violet pointing the gun at them as Lenard opened a can of petrol. He poured the contents out along the edges of the room, then tossed some up on the stone walls.

“What are you doing?” Q asked.

“We need a diversion. Everyone will come rushing here while we will simple drive away.

“You’re going to leave us in here! Why burn the church down? You don’t need to kill us to get away!” Q began to panic.

“No, but it will be enjoyable to watch you burn up. People like you used to be stoned to death. I guess burning inside a church is appropriate.” Violet laughed. Q and Eve could see the madness behind the woman’s eyes.

“Fine, you want me dead because I’m a homosexual, but Eve . . . she’s done nothing wrong. Let her leave.” Q said trying to find his strength.

“She’s a bloody English spy. I agree she doesn’t deserve a slow death by fire but she still needs to die too.” Violet frowned slightly, then fired the gun.

Eve was shot in the stomach. She collapsed backwards and Q caught her. He gently eased her down to the floor. Eve was gasping for air as she grabbed hold of Q’s hand tightly. Q glared up at his cousin.

“VIOLET, YOU BITCH!”

“So long cousin.” Violet tossed the oil lamp at the pool of petrol on the floor. It burst into flames and quickly moved down the path poured out by Lenard. The flames raced up the stone walls and caught the aged timbers in the roof on fire. The dried leaves and grasses on the floor quickly ignited and the room filled with smoke.

Q pulled Eve closer to himself as the wall of flames surrounded them. He just barely saw his cousin and her driver flee the building. Closing and barring the door behind them. The two people left in the building were coughing. The smoke was stinging their eyes and burning their throats. The crash of one of the roof supports sent embers up into the air and burned their skin.

Eve wrapped her arms tightly around Q’s waist. Blood covered her dress and she was beginning to lose consciousness. Tears were slipping from Q’s burning eyes.

“James, I love you.” He whispered. His final thoughts of his lover making his weep.

The hand grabbed Q’s shoulder. Q looked up into the dirty face. He barely recognized the man.

“Come with me if you want to live.”

~Q~

John and Sherlock saw the fire before they reached the edge of the woods. They rushed forward and into the dark shadows of the trees. When they reached the chapel, the flames were lapping out of the broken windows and the roof was engulfed. There was a loud snap and the slate roof collapsed in. The crash was violent and flames shot higher into the black sky.

The two men tried to open the door but the flames pushed the detective and doctor back. Sherlock tried again, but John pulled him out of the way as another section of the roof fell and nearly crushed the man. It was hopeless. The moved back and watched as the ancient church burned.

Bond came rushing out of the darkness and into the circle of light from the fire. Shouts from the house rose above the sound of the blaze. Calls for water and fire were moving closer.

“HOLMES, IS SHE IN THERE!” Bond shouted.

“WE DON’T KNOW . . . BUT QUINCY . . .”

“WHAT ABOUT QUINCY?!”

“She has him . . . I think he is in there.” Sherlock looked back at the blaze.

Bond went to rush into the flames but Sherlock and John held him back.

“IT’S TOO LATE, JAMES! WE CAN’T REACH THEM! IT’S TOO LATE!” John shouted over the noise.

Bond fought in their grip but he knew they were right. His love was gone. There was no way to survive the cataclysm of the flames. He slumped in their arms as anger and vile hatred raced through his blood.

“Do you think Hunter and her driver are in there too?” John asked Sherlock.

Bond tensed then rose. “No,” he said then he took off running back to the garage. Sherlock and John quickly followed him. John couldn’t understand how the man was able to run through the trees in the dark. Bond was running at full speed as Sherlock and John struggled to keep up. Bond was driven by revenge and didn’t care.

They came out of the clearing and right next to the garage. Bond threw his body against the wall and looked through the door. John stepped next to Bond while Sherlock stood on the opposite side of the door. They could hear Violet shouting at Lenard inside.

“What is wrong with it!? Why won’t it start?!”

“The distributor been removed . . . I’ll need to steal one from one of the other cars.” Lenard moved to one of Holmes’ vehicles.

“Bond, you take him. Sherlock and I will get her.” John whispered over James’ shoulder.

James nodded and rushed forward. He already had his hands on Lenard’s shoulders when Violet screamed a warning. She raised up her gun to shoot the blonde when John stepped forward and leveled his service revolver at her head.

“I will shoot you.” He said coldly.

Sherlock stepped behind him. His face was emotionless but his voice carried poison in it.

“Please do not move, cousin. I’m so looking forward to watching you hang for murdering my brother.” He stepped around John and took the gun from Violet’s hand.

Bond pulled the man away from the car. He punched Lenard in the stomach and the man bent forward. Lenard lunged forward and tackled Bond. The two men were rolling across the cobble stone floor. Lenard was laying punches to Bond’s body as Bond aimed for his face. Bond twisted and rolled, trapping Lenard to the ground; Bond’s knee shoved into the man’s back. Bond grabbed his jaw and twisted sharply. Snapping the man’s neck back. The crack of bones was loud. Lenard exhaled loudly and slumped in Bond’s grip. The German spy slipped to the floor dead, as Violet shouted and screamed at the blonde.

“YOU BASTARD! LENARD! LENARD!”

She took a step forward but John blocked her. He pushed the gun up under her chin.

“Sherlock wants you to hang, but I wouldn’t mind just shooting you now.”

Violet opened her mouth to say something, but the look in John’s eyes stopped her. She snapped her mouth shut and watched as Bond stood up over the dead body of her partner. Bond stood up straight. The anger still burned brightly behind his eyes. He marched over to the woman.

She was who was responsible for taking Q away from him. She had destroyed any chance he had at happiness. Bond wrapped his single hand around her thin neck. He slowly closed his fingers.

“He is dead. You killed him.” He began to tighten his grip. Her eyes bulged in fear.

“Bond . . . don’t. . . She will pay for what she did . . . I promise you, but not like this . . . stop it.” John said quietly in the man’s ear.

“I promise you Bond, I will never let her rest for what she has done to Quincy.” Sherlock said. “It is over for her but I will search out her conspirators. I owe them for what they did to me and for Quincy. Never fear. This is not over.”

James held the woman’s throat tight for one more moment. Her lips were turning blue and he could see blood vessels begin to burst in the whites of her eyes. He let go and she gasped. She started to fall forward but Sherlock caught her. He pulled her wrist around and pinned her forearm to her back. She cried out in pain.

“You’re breaking my arm!” Her voice broke and was raspy from the strangulation.

“Don’t worry dear. I know exactly how much pressure I need to apply to snap your arm. Up to that point though it can be excruciatingly painful.”

Sherlock pushed her to the door with John stepping in beside them. Bond was alone when he heard the rain start to fall. The morning sun couldn’t break through the clouds and the day began grey and wet. Bond was left alone in the garage with the dead man. He knew he would always be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ekelhaft schwein translated to disgusting pig  
> hure translated to whore.  
> One more chapter or maybe two if a decide on an epilog. Please let me know what you think. Extra points if you know who was in the chapel with Q and Eve. He's already been in the story.


	21. When All is Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When all is lost, look to the past to find hope for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rushed to get this chapter out. If there are any mistakes, (which I'm sure there are) please just let me know. Thank you.

When All is Lost

The cold rain had started just after sunrise. More than anything, it helped put the fire out. The shell of the ancient church stood as the icy rain fell on the last of the rescuers. The roof had completely caved in. The left and back walls of the church partially stood while the front of the church and the right wall had collapsed. None of the wooden pews or the altar table remained. The floor was covered with blackened timbers and ash mixed into puddles of rain water. It smelled acrid of burnt wood and scorched stones.

Bond stood just off the edge of the ruined building while Sherlock and John stepped through the wreckage. Sherlock scurried over the burnt remains, lifting stones and pulling the fallen joist out of the way. He was looking. He kept looking as John watched him.

“Sherlock the fire was very hot . . . there may not be any remains left.” John tried to placate to his distraught friend.

“The bones . . . there should at least be bones left. It wasn’t that hot. It didn’t burn that long. There should be remains to find. Something!” Sherlock pulled another roof joist out of the way and saw a large ring of melted metal.

Sherlock stood up straight looking at the ring. It was four inches in diameter and fused to the stone floor. He glanced up at the house and took off running. John gave chase.

“Sherlock! What is it?!” John shouted.

“HE’S NOT DEAD!” Sherlock shouted back.

Bond heard the man and quickly went rushing after the detective and the doctor. Sherlock pushed his way into the house and passed the watching soldiers. He ran down the stairs to the kitchens in the lower portion of the house. John and James were right behind him. He opened one door to a larder then moved to second door. He yanked it open and rushed into the old store room. It smelled of mold and sawdust, but a slight hint of smoke. James and John watched as Sherlock was examining a wooden shelf built up against the stone foundation.

Sherlock started ripping the supplies off the shelves, scattering them across the floor.

“Sherlock! What are you doing?! What do you mean, he’s not dead?!” John asked wondering if his friend was having a mental break.

“The tunnel!” Sherlock shouted.

“What tunnel?” Bond asked.

“The tunnel my family hid in when Cromwell came and ransacked the house! The tunnel that was used as a priest hole during the Tudors! The tunnel that connected the church to the original house!” Sherlock pulled the shelf away from the wall.

Behind the wooden shelf was another door. Ancient and weathered. The door had a large iron lock bolting it close and a round iron ring for a handle. Similar to the ring Sherlock saw in the church.

“Where’s the key?!” Bond shouted.

“Lost years ago. John . . .” Sherlock looked to his friend.

John pushed Sherlock behind himself and aimed his revolver at the lock at an angle. He fired the gun. The discharge was deafening in the confined space of the store room. The sound echoing off the limestone walls. The lock snapped off the door and the bolt fell away. Bond grabbed the ring and pulled. The door fought but gave way and groaned with age as it opened.

A rush of hot air poured from the open doorway. The smell of smoke blended with stale air and sweat. On the dirt floor of the tunnel lay three people. Two men and an unconscious woman. Their faces blacken with soot, the bodies weak from the heat inside the dark tunnel. One man looked up at James with hazel green eyes under a halo of black curls.

Bond leaped forward and wrapped his arms around Q’s body. Pulling the man close to his chest. Q gasped and clung to James’ shirt. His face buried in the blonde’s neck.

“YOU’RE ALIVE! YOU’RE ALIVE!” James struggled to contain his emotions.

“Eve’s been shot.” Q whispered. He was panting, trying to capture his breathe.

John stepped forward and knelt beside Eve’s body. She had lost a great deal of blood but she was still breathing.

“Get her out of here!” John shouted.

One of the men who had followed them down stairs helped John carry the injured woman out of the tunnel. James helped Q to his feet while Sherlock went over the third person on the floor. He picked the young man up. The remnants of an army uniform could be seen through the dirt and soot.

Sherlock looked the man close in the face. “Corporal Dawson.”

“Yes, sir.”

Bond turned and looked at the deserter. “Ronnie?! Have you been here the whole time?!”

“When Mister Q said I would be shipped out soon, I just . . . I couldn’t go back . . . I couldn’t go to the front . . . I saw the church once when I was out walking in the woods. I’d been living rough in there for several days when I noticed the trap door. I found the tunnel. Whenever anyone came near the church, I’d just hid down there for a while.”

“He saved Eve and myself. He came and got us out during the fire. We made it into the tunnel just before the roof collapsed. But we couldn’t open the door from this side.” Q said resting in James’ arms.

“You’re a hero, Dawson.” Sherlock said reaching out to shake the man’s hand. Dawson took it in surprise.

“He’s not a hero.” James said coolly. Q twisted to look up into the man’s face.

“How can you say that? He didn’t need to come out of hiding to rescue us. He could have left us to die in that fire.”

“The army won’t see him as a hero. It doesn’t matter to them that he saved you and Moneypenny. They’ll just see him as a deserter.” James said. “They will still shoot him.”

Dawson sagged and leaned against the wall. “He’s right, Q. I’m just as dead as I was before I ran away.”

“They quit looking for you here, Dawson.” Sherlock said. Sherlock turned and looked at Bond. “No reason for them to look again for him.”

“No reason for them to know he is alive at all.” Bond said watching Sherlock.

“No . . . he could just simple never be heard of again.”

“I know a place that very few people ever go to. A place in Scotland.” Bond smiled as he squeezed Q tighter looked down in his filthy face.

“I think the Holmes would be more than happy to help a hero take holiday in the lands north.” Sherlock smiled and glanced down at the confused Dawson.

~Q~

The motor car passed the stone pillars. Q looked up at the bronze stags standing on top of each pillar. The weathered name plate was easy to read, ‘Skyfall’. James drove the automobile down the drive to the stone mansion. The winter grasses were brown and the water of the moors were iced over now that Christmas was only a week away.

James had promised Q that they would be in Scotland for the holidays. He had made his visit to London short and returned quickly to Vauxhall to retrieve Q to bring him home. Skyfall was going to be that now. James and Q’s home. Bond smiled to himself as he thought about it.

Two weeks earlier, they had put Ronnie Dawson on a train heading north to Scotland. Kincaide had met the young man at the station and taken him to the estate. He would be there when James and Q arrived. It had been tricky but James and Sherlock had snuck the young man out of Vauxhall before Greg Lestrade had seen him. The Red Caps never discovered the man had been found.

Kincaide had let James know that the young man had settled in quite well and was helping with the sheep on the estate. The old man also let James know that everything had been arranged for his arrival. James had kept his plans a secret from Q but the closer he got to his childhood home the quicker he wanted to arrive.

Q sat pensive on the seat beside him. “Are you sure it will be alright. Your friends won’t . . . won’t be shocked?”

“I explained to Kincaide you were very special to me. You were going to be living at Skyfall with me now.”

James pulled the car to a stop in front of the massive oak door. Skyfall was not a large as Vauxhall but it looked as old. The grey stones had ivy stubbornly clinging to them. The valleys of the slate roof were nestled with moss. The dark shutters lined the blown glass windows. It was gothic in appearance and as intimidating as its owner.

“You grew up here?” Q asked.

“Yes, hunted and hiked over those moors, too. It was a wonderful place to be when I was very young. Then later, it wasn’t.”

“After your parents died?”

“Yes. I had to remain here for two years with my maiden aunt. She sent me on to Eton . . . But I think together, we could make it special again.” James rested his hand on top of Q’s.

The young man smiled up at the blonde.

“Are there hidden passages in there too?”

“Yes, one . . . but there won’t be any reason to use it.” The corner of James’ mouth curved into a smug expression. Q raised an eyebrow. “I won’t be sneaking around to get into your bedroom. We will be sharing the master bedroom.”

“Will there be a large fireplace?”

“Yes and quite a soft rug in front of it.”

~Q~

Lestrade stepped up the old stairs of the red brick building. He couldn’t believe how lucky he had become. Recently married and now receiving an appointment to be a Detective Inspector at Scotland Yard. He had received the appointment the very same day he and Molly had said their vows in the small village church within view of Vauxhall. His new bride welcomed the adventure of moving to London and starting their married life in the bustle of the vibrant city.

He removed his hat as he knock on the door of the ‘Chief of Detectives’. Waiting for the short quick command of ‘come’ before he opened the frosted glass door and entered. Sir Malcom was sitting behind his oak desk surrounded by stacks of papers tied with blue ribbons. The elderly man was going to be Gregory Lestrade’s direct supervisor. He was in his late sixties with grizzled white beard and a balding head. His eyes were small and watery grey. And his face had the unhealthy pallor of someone who spent far too much time indoors.

“Lestrade! Very good. Glad to see you made it.” Sir Malcom looked up from his report. “I’ve been listening to your praises for the last few months.”

Lestrade nodded his head and tried to stand up taller before the older gentleman. “Why thank you sir. I am unaware of what I may have done to garner such praise that it would reach you.”

“Well, there has been this person . . . calls himself a ‘consulting detective’ . . . whatever the devil that is. He’s been driving my detectives insane for the past several months. Completely bollocking investigations . . . showing us up left and right.”

Lestrade felt suddenly ill. He knew only one person who used the term consulting detective. He wanted to collapse in the chair but didn’t think Sir Malcom would approve.

“He has solved four murders and two robberies before my men could even get to the scenes . . . the press adore him . . . I could either arrest him or use him to solve crimes. Given the adoration he’s gained from the public, arresting him wouldn’t have been the best option.”

“Let me guess, Sir Malcom . . . he deduced you.” Lestrade said resigned to the fact any chance he had a Scotland Yard was now ruined by Sherlock Holmes.

The grey haired man glared at Lestrade. His face reddened in anger. “The bloody bastard knew my family is French! How the hell did he know that?! We changed our names three generations ago. No one knew!”

“Sherlock . . . observes.” Lestrade gave up on formalities and fell into the chair. Burying his face in his hand. Sir Malcom didn’t even notice.

“He told me you were the only detective he’s ever work with that he is willing to work with now.”

“Me?!” Lestrade looked up.

“Yes. And if I don’t want riots in the streets because I don’t use him or my men from walking out because I do use him, I need you. I need you to be his . . . handler.”

Lestrade thought he was dreaming . . . or more likely having a nightmare.

“Sir, I barely got on with the bastard. He drives everyone around him crazy.”

“Well, not everyone. That Army doctor seems to tolerate him alright.”

There was a sudden knock on the door before it opened abruptly. Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson stepped into Sir Malcom’s office without being invited.

“Malcom, I’ve discovered the identity of the Black Friar’s Strangler . . . when do I get Lestrade!” Sherlock announced marching in.

“Mister Holmes! I have asked you to resist from using my door as a turnstile . . .”

“Greg!” John called out noticing the Detective Inspector sitting in the chair.

“Oh good . . . you’ve finally listened to me.” Sherlock held out his hand to Lestrade. “Lestrade, glad to have you back working with us.”

Lestrade looked at the hand then looked at Sir Malcom unsure what to do.

“Please man, take the position so at least one of the detectives can work with the insane genius.”

Lestrade looked back up at Sherlock’s smiling face then over at John Watson who looked empathetic. Lestrade stood and shook Sherlock’s hand.

“Let me get one thing straight with you Holmes. No more running off alone anymore. You almost got killed at Vauxhall doing that.”

Sherlock smiled broadly. “Of course not, Lestrade. I have John with me, now. Always with me.”

Sherlock looked over at his secret lover. John tried to keep his face blank, but his cheeked blushed. Even his ears took on a red hue. John would make Sherlock paid for that embarrassment later tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations to everyone who picked Ronnie. Yes I was going to bring him back in and the priest hole tunnel is why I wasted all that time in the earlier chapter explaining the history of the house. Thank you all for your support through this story. It was an unusual AU to write in but I had fun with it. Your comments and kudos helped me along to know others were enjoying it too. Until next time.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments welcomed and enjoyed.


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